


Just a piece of paper

by PrettyCalypso



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Ian, Canon Compliant, Fake/Pretend Marriage, Feelings, Fraud/Scam, Hospitalization, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mentions of 3x666, Post Season 6, Reunion, Season 7 - Canon Divergence, Sexual Content, Sick Mickey, Vomiting, and a lot of talking, some dark thoughts and mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyCalypso/pseuds/PrettyCalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after the end of season 6, Ian and Mickey reunite under unexpected circumstances. They end up planning a fake marriage for a scam. But is this marriage really fake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I often dream of our two favorite boys, and this fic, like many others, came to me in one of those dreams. I'm quite happy about it, I hope you'll be too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Cook County Hospital doesn't actually exist in Chicago, but I like to use because it's the one they use in Shameless as a reference to ER (another TV show by John Wells) and I love both shows.

 

Ian loved his job. He hadn't been doing it for long, but he already knew it was his calling. Helping people, saving them for potentially life-threatening situations, and bringing them to safety. The adrenaline, this feeling of being needed and indispensable to society, it was intoxicating.

 

He was just coming back from a call at the retirement home, and June suggested they'd stop for coffee, when they received a new call. The Cook County Jail needed them to transport a patient from their clinic to the hospital. It was the third run to the prison Ian had gone to since he started this job, and every time he tried his hardest not to let himself think that maybe it was for Mickey. And today too, his palms were sweating, and his heart was beating too fast. Woody drove past the gate, and turned right toward the clinic, their vehicle accompanied by scary-looking guards all along. Two nurses pushing a stretcher exited the building as soon as Woody parked the ambulance in front of the door, and Ian opened the back of the vehicle so that the patient could be placed inside. He turned to help June and the nurses, and took a glimpse at the man on the stretcher. His heart sunk to his feet. Ian could have recognized theses features among thousands, and for a second he irrationally wanted to threw himself on the stretcher to create a shield of his body between the entire world and his very own Mickey. Instead, he stilled. From the background, he heard June call his name.

 

“You okay?”

 

Ian nodded slowly.

 

“Yeah. What's wrong with him?”

 

“Got into a fight a couple of weeks ago, got stabbed.” one of the nurses answered, and Ian almost threw up. “He hasn't really gotten better since, so we send him to the hospital for complementary testing. He's been drugged for the ride so you don't have to worry, but Jack still has to come with you.”

 

The nurse jerked his head toward the strongly-built guard behind them, and Ian nodded, more as a sign of acknowledgment because he was absolutely not afraid Mickey could hurt him. Not anymore.

 

They drove at a slow-ish pace until Cook County – the hospital this time – Ian insisting on staying out back with ' _the patient_ _'_. He couldn't leave him. Not anymore.

 

***

 

“You sure you're okay?” June asked him about two hours later, when their shift was finally over.

 

Ian nodded, because it was the only thing he had really been able to do since they left the prison. They walked together to the L, and instead of choosing the line going to his house, Ian took the one going to the hospital.

 

“Aren't you going home?” June asked just before they parted.

 

“Got something to do first.”

 

***

 

He almost ran to the front desk, where a heavy looking man had his eyes fixed on a computer screen.

 

“Hi. Can I go see Mickey Milkovich? He's a patient who arrived today, I brought him.”

 

“Visiting time is over.” the receptionist answered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

 

“Okay.” Ian conceded. “I'll come back tomorrow. But will it be possible for me to see him? I mean he's a convict from Cook County.”

 

The receptionist sighed, and looked up at Ian.

 

“What name did you say?”

 

“Mickey Milkovich. Brought in today.”

 

The man glanced back at his computer and typed the name in.

 

“Still under surveillance, but according to my file, there's nothing against visitation. Are you a family member?”

 

“No. I'm... a friend. And I'm on his visiting list in prison, if that's helping.”

 

The receptionist typed a few things on his keyboard.

 

“Alright then, you can come back tomorrow. Visiting hours are between 7am and 7pm.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

***

 

Mickey had slept a dreamless night for the first time in months, and, waking up, he felt lighter. Or maybe it was just the drugs. He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling was white. Whiter than the one at the prison. He wasn't at the clinic. Or was he? He heard the sound of a busy street muffled by a thick window. No inmates walking buy, fighting, talking, or insulting each other. Just the regular and familiar sound of the city. He was out.

 

“Hey Mick.”

 

Another familiar sound. For a second, Mickey thought he was dreaming again. He was back in high school, under the bleachers, with a smiling redhead who dreamed to be in the army. He opened his eyes. The smiling redhead was there, but older, the hope in his eyes not completely gone but weakened.

 

“What you're doing here Gallagher?” Mickey said with a hoarse voice.

 

“I'm making sure you're okay.” Ian simply answered, like he was there every single day making sure Mickey was okay.

 

The black-haired man sighed, and dropped his head back on his pillow.

 

“Well I'm okay.” he spat. “You can go now.”

 

He closed his eyes, hoping to make the redhead disappear, but a couple of minutes later he could still hear him breathe next to the bed.

 

“I forbid you to die Mick.” Ian said, his voice on the verge of breaking.

 

Mickey sighed again and opened his eyes. There was a large guard on the other side of the door, watching the hallway. And Ian was looking at Mickey with determination, and maybe a tear or two in his green opals.

 

“You forbid me?” Mickey repeated, incredulous. “You can't _forbid_ me of anything. Not after... everything. I can die if I want to, nobody needs me anymore anyway.”

 

“Some people still need you.”

 

Mickey laughed darkly at that.

 

“Yeah? Who?”

 

There was a short silence. _That's what I thought_ , Mickey's mind screamed.

 

“Mandy's back.” Ian stated.

 

“I know, she came to see me a few times.” Mickey said. “She's doing good. She really doesn't need me. Svetlana either. I never wanted to be married to her, but at some point last year I was _happy_ she was my wife, because she was visiting me regularly – unlike some people. And I thought it would last because she needed a green card or some shit, but then I received divorce papers. I knew it was the shittiest time of my life because, for a moment, I didn't want to sign them.”

 

Another silence.

 

“Yevgeny doesn't need me either.” Mickey added. “He's actually better off without me, and...”

 

“I need you.” Ian interrupted.

 

Mickey didn't look at him. He couldn't, not after those words.

 

“You don't. You never needed me.”

 

“I did need you. I needed you when you didn't want me, when you did your best to keep me away from you, when you went to juvie – twice. I needed you when you married Svetlana; I needed you so bad back then, but you didn't give me anything. I needed you after that, when you came to get me at the club. I needed you and you were finally there. And I needed you more than ever in the year that followed, but I didn't want to need you. I didn't want you to get hurt. When I saw my mom again, and she was with that teenage meth dealer...”

 

“We don't have to talk about it.”

 

They both knew what Mickey was referring too exactly. Not Ian's mom, or what happened when the redhead was away, but what happened when he came back.

 

“I want to talk about it.” Ian confessed.

 

“I don't.” Mickey answered.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“You're sorry?”

 

“I'm sorry I handled it badly, but I'm not sorry I did it.”

 

“Oh jeez, thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

 

“I didn't want to be Monica.” Ian started to explain. “Monica who had people who cared about her, but who always ended up hurting them. I didn't want anybody to care about me, in fear that I'd hurt them eventually. I couldn't break off from my family, blood ties and everything, but I could break off from you, I could let you go. I wanted you to be free, I wanted you to be able to find somebody a hundred times better than me.”

 

Mickey mumbled a few words under his breath, knowing they wouldn't be loud enough for Ian to hear.

 

“What?”

 

“It doesn't exist.” the black-haired man said, louder and sharper. “Somebody a hundred times better than you. It doesn't exist.”

 

Ian smiled.

 

“I'm pretty sure it does.”

 

“Not for me.”

 

“You'll find them eventually.”

 

“What if I don't want to?”

 

Their eyes met. Mickey wasn't sure why he was saying those things. He had moved on. He had. He really wanted to have moved on.

 

“I needed to find myself.” Ian said slowly. “I needed to prove to the world, and to me, that I could still do something on my own, that I could still be someone. I needed to live a normal life without somebody constantly reminding me I was sick. And I resented Fiona for doing just that at first. I avoided Svetlana too, and Yevgeny. Couldn't watch that baby in the eye without remembering what I've done. I wanted to forget that entire part of my life, that terrible, horrible few months when I was myself without being myself. And you, with your eyes, looking at me like I could break at any minute, I hated you. I didn't want your help, your protection, or your love, because you became too careful, you were scared of loosing me, but I was scared of loosing myself. I needed to prove I was strong and self-sufficient, and I couldn't do it with you around, or at least I didn't find a way to do it. But I'm sorry I hurt you. I never wanted that, but somehow it was easier, that way you wouldn't come back.”

 

Ian lowered his glaze to his knees. He looked sincere, but Mickey still had this terrible ache in his heart.

 

“What about that other guy?” he asked. “Mandy told me you were dating a _'black fireman, who's also an artist'_. You didn't mind his love.”

 

Ian smiled at Mickey's words.

 

“I don't think Caleb ever really loved me.” he admitted. “And I never loved him. I liked him, he was nice. And he had his own problems. We were both sick, but we left the other to deal with his sickness on his own without interfering, I needed that for some time. And when I first met him he didn't know. It was thrilling to have someone interested in me who didn't see the illness, and who wasn't only there because they were paying me to shake my ass for them. I think Caleb was a good transition in my life. He helped me to get where I am now, he encouraged me to get this job. And he showed me what it was to be in a plain, simple, basic relationship. It's gonna sound weird, but I actually learned stuff from the few months we dated, sometimes I even took it like a lesson. And other times I surprised myself thinking stuff like 'would Mickey like it if I took him there?' or 'Mickey would love that movie, we should watch it together one day'. I missed you – I always more or less miss you when you're not in the room anyway – but I also needed that time apart from you, so we could be stronger when we got back together and I could introduce you to all these new amazing stuff.”

 

“Because we'll get back together? That's what you think?”

 

Mickey wanted to punch Ian. He wanted to punch him for the easiness with which he had said this phrase. _When we got back together._ Like this all thing was a fucking joke, a game they were playing.

 

“We always do.” Ian answered, just as easily. “And it's like this part of me knew it was okay to break up because we would find our way back eventually. We always do.”

 

The redhead was lucky Mickey was strapped to his bed because the punch would have been hurtful.

 

“I thought that too.” the black-haired man said. “When you told me it was over, I was sad, and pissed, but I also didn't quite believe it. Break-ups were always just temporary between us. But then the cops arrested me, and fifteen years... It was a fucking long time for temporary! And you came to see me _only_ _twice_ , Svetlana even had to pay you for the second time. When you left me with an empty promise, _that's_ when I knew it was over. I was fucking devastated.”

 

Ian swallowed, but didn't say a word. Mickey was happy if he could hurt him even a little bit.

 

“I was so lonely it even became my nickname.” he added. “The Loner. I didn't talk to anybody, I minded my own business, never fucked anyone, I just... survived. Walked when I was asked to, ate when I was supposed to, I was like a brainless zombie and I liked it because it kept me from thinking. The only time I lived was when I slept. You were in my dreams a lot, and more often than not I wasn't in a prison cell. Things changed when Mandy told me about your new guy. It's like all the anger I had against you exploded, and I got into a lot of fights. Stabbed a couple of guys. Got stabbed too. Several times. Until I ended up in a hospital bed.”

 

“And now I'm here.”

 

“And now you're fucking here.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but a necessary transition toward the rest of the story.

 

Ian came back to the hospital the very next day. He wasn't sure Mickey wanted him there, but he would try anyway. The receptionist let him through, and Ian noticed there was no more guard in front of the door. He opened it to find Mickey lying on the bed with his eyes closed. His handcuffs were gone, and Ian knew the other man wasn't sleeping – he had watched him sleep too many times before to notice the difference.

 

“Hey. You're free.” the redhead joked.

 

“Yep. I am.” Mickey answered, keeping a serious face.

 

Ian sat on the chair and looked at him more closely.

 

“You're really free?”

 

Mickey opened his eyes.

 

“My PO came by a few minutes before you, and like an hour after the doctor. I'm liberated early for health reasons.”

 

“So you're out?” Ian repeated, not quite believing it.

 

Mickey nodded.

 

“Cook County rather have me out and pimping or stealing people's furniture, or what the hell they charged me for, than keeping me in and treating me. I'm too expensive now.”

 

“Treating you for what exactly?”

 

“Hepatitis said the good doc. That's why they sent me here. The fucker who stabbed me not only missed his aim, he also poison me, poison my blood with his shitty blade.”

 

Ian wanted to ask so many more questions, like was Mickey going to heal? Or could he pay for his medication if it was too expensive for the prison? Would he go back to his house or stay in the hospital longer? And what the fuck was hepatitis exactly? But he didn't have the time to even start to formulate the first question that a doctor was entering the room.

 

“Mr Milkovich.” the man in the blouse started. “I believe your PO officer came to inform you of your new situation?”

 

Mickey nodded.

 

“Alright then.” the doctor continued. “What we need to know now is if you are willing to start the treatments. Your disease is still on its early stages, so we have good chances to fight it, but for that we need to start treating you now. Although you need to keep in mind that even if those treatments are very expensive, they will be covered by your health insurance.”

 

“I don't fucking...”

 

Ian knew how Mickey was going to end this sentence. Of course he didn't have health insurance. So the redhead put a hand on Mickey's arm to shut him up. He was thinking fast, and maybe this was completely crazy, but he had an idea to help him out.

 

“We can handle it.” he said. “Start the treatments.”

 

The doctor turned to Ian, looking at him like he hadn't noticed his presence in the room until now.

 

“I'm sorry but who are you?”

 

“His husband.” the redhead answered quickly.

 

“Gallagher, what the...”

 

Ian squeezed Mickey's arm harder.

 

“Start the treatments, we have a good insurance.”

 

The doctor nodded and wrote a few things on his notepad.

 

“Alright, I'll come back later then, with more information.” he said before leaving the room.

 

Ian released Mickey's arm, and the black-haired man shot him a deadly glance.

 

“What the fuck Gallagher?”

 

“You don't have insurance Mick, but you need the treatments.”

 

“And I can take care of it myself, fuck you very much.”

 

“I have a good insurance.” Ian explained. “I have a job now, remember? A legal job that offers health insurance – and I really needed a good one to be able to afford meds for life.”

 

“And what's all that have to do with me?”

 

“It also covers my spouse.”

 

The two men looked at each other for a beat, and understanding drawn on Mickey.

 

“Oh hell no.”

 

“You have a better solution?”

 

“I can take care of it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Ian sat back on the chair and took out his phone. He typed a few things, knowing very well Mickey was still watching him. He fixed his screen for a long time, letting the silence stretch.

 

“Did you know that the treatments for hepatitis cost about $3000 per month?” he finally asked without raising his eyes from his phone screen.

 

Mickey sighed.

 

“And it can take years to heal.” Ian added.

 

“Weren't you the one yesterday who made me this whole speech about being self-sufficient and shit?”

 

Ian shrugged. He knew perfectly how this whole thing could look like a big contradiction, but he also knew Mickey would have done the same thing if their situations were reversed.

 

“I'm just offering you health insurance.”

 

“Illegally.” Mickey stated.

 

“Since when are you above that?”

 

“A few hours ago I was still about to spend the next seven years of my life – if not more – in a prison cell for that exact type of scam.”

 

Ian finally raised his head from his phone.

 

“So what if it wasn't a scam?”

 

“What are you getting at?”

 

“I always thought we'd end up married eventually.”

 

Mickey's eyes widened.

 

“Is that a proposal? At least mine had the decency to be based on real feelings.”

 

“You were trying to stop me from breaking up with you. Not the best timing. And who says mine is not based on real feelings?”

 

“Don't give me that shit.”

 

“What shit?”

 

“Don't talk about fucking feelings. You want me to marry you for the insurance. That's it.”

 

“Because I care about you Mick. I want you to be healthy, and if all that takes is marrying you, then I'd do it every day of the year. Sickness and health, and all that shit, remember?”

 

Mickey's gaze was hard, and a new silence settled.

 

“You want me to go get a ring and reserve a table in a nice restaurant?” Ian asked after a long minute of Mickey staring at him. “I'll do it.”

 

“No, I don't want you to do all that.” Mickey spat, dropping his eyes to his bed. “And the fuck would I do with a ring?”

 

Ian knew this question wasn't really one, so he just waited for Mickey to give him an answer.

 

“So?”

 

“So what?”

 

“Are we going to do this?”

 

Mickey sighed again.

 

“Do I really have a choice?”

 

Ian didn't answer. Yes, in some extent, Mickey had a choice. He had the choice to struggle for money for the next few years – months if he was lucky – to pay the treatment of a disease who would most certainly – and according to Google – let him weak and unable to work. Or he could just agree to Ian's proposition.

 

“Okay.” Mickey gave in. “But it's just for the insurance. Nothing more.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know much about hepatitis (or American health insurances for that matter), but I did a lot of researches, and I hope I won't get anything too wrong (also, I might emphasize some stuff for drama effects).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter is not really fun, with a lot of necessary talk about Mickey's disease, and some talk about Ian's bipolar disorder. If you don't feel like reading about it, jump directly to the first three little ***.

 

About 48 hours later, Mickey was released from the hospital, after the two men had had a meeting with the doctor. Ian was not letting him go, wanting to assist to all the meetings, and promising he would come to all the medical appointments. Mickey wished he could send him away, but he did need the insurance and, to be honest, he was somewhat happy to not be alone in this.

 

“Your infection is chronic, but still in its early stages.” the doctor explained. “We usually use two main treatments, and here we're gonna start by injections of interferon, see if it works. It will help your immune system fight the virus and, hopefully, prevent liver failure, cancer, or cirrhosis, but you need to know that those complications are still risks. The medication will be given to you at the hospital once a week for 48 weeks minimum. You will also need to meet with me regularly for check-ups and blood tests to control your liver and the activity of the virus in your body.”

 

Mickey nodded. He ingested all the information, trying not to completely freak out.

 

“You might find it very hard to get out of bed some days due to exhaustion, or migraines. It's perfectly normal if you decide not to get up, but I do recommend you try to exercise as much as you possibly can.You might also developnausea or find it hard to tolerate food, but you need to keep eating, it's very important, so find the moment of the day when you feel the best and eat something that you know you'll keep down.And if you notice you're struggling to keep any food in your body, please tell me, it's not rare that patients need intravenous feeding.”

 

Mickey nodded again. He kept his gaze fixed on his doctor, but he knew Ian's eyes were on him, keeping him grounded.

 

“Now, concerning your life partner.” the doctor continued, turning to the redhead. “Hepatitis is very contagious, but there are ways to keep the virus away. Obviously, you need to use protection during sexual intercourse. You cannot not share needles, razors, toothbrushes, or any kind of toiletries. Avoid the best you can exchanges of saliva, from glasses and utensils to kissing – the virus is less likely to be transmitted by saliva but a very small cut in the mouth is all the disease needs to travel from one person to another. Also, I don't know what your sexual preferences are, but please don't bite each other.”

 

Ian emitted a small laugh, but Mickey stayed stoic. He stored the information, but he had no intention of living with Ian – and even less have sex with him – in a near future, so he didn't feel very concerned.

 

“That being said,” the doctor added, still talking to Ian. “You can get the vaccine to prevent the virus from infecting you. You will still need to be careful and respect all those recommendations, but the vaccine will let you live more peacefully, and allow you some breaches in the rules, especially when it comes to kissing. It is given in a series of three injections: an initial dose during our next appointment, followed by another dose one month later, and the last one after six months. It can also be given in four doses, with the initial dose followed by doses at seven days, twenty-one to thirty days, and twelve months. So you will still need to stay careful during the next six to twelve months. Are you interested?”

 

Ian nodded eagerly, and Mickey kept himself from rolling his eyes. The doctor took a few notes on a post-it that he stuck to Mickey's file, and addressed the redhead one more time.

 

“In order to prepare your injection, choose the best combination for you, and avoid most side effects, I need a few more information. Are you currently under any medication?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Alright.” the doctor wrote more on the post-it. “You will need to give me a list of the drugs you are taking regularly. And do you have a history of mental illness?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The doctor raised his head. He was surely not expecting that answer, and even if they were at Mickey's scary medical appointment, the black-haired man put a hand on Ian's thigh, squeezing it lightly in reassurance.

 

“I'm bipolar.”

 

It was the first time Mickey heard Ian say it out loud to a third party, and he tried not to be affected by the idea that the redhead had been getting used to his illness without him and was now able to talk about it without flinching.

 

“The vaccine is even more important for you then.” the doctor said, somehow more serious than before. “Hepatitis can play tricks on your mind and increase depression, and medication for most mental illnesses and hepatitis are often not compatible, you absolutely need the vaccine. Even if your husband was healthy, I would recommend this vaccination.”

 

_***_

 

“We make one hell of a team.” Ian laughed as they were walking toward the courthouse. “Bipolar and hepatitis. Mental and physical. Genetics and viral. Regular medication for god knows how long, and we're not even medically compatible!”

 

Mickey kept his head down, and Ian gave his shoulder a nudge.

 

“Hey come on, it was a joke! We need to laugh about this if we want to make it to next year.”

 

Ian only noticed the other man had stopped walking when he was already twenty feet ahead. The redhead turned around to see that Mickey was looking at him from his spot, looking tired, angry and worried all together. He walked back to him.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Stop saying _we_.” Mickey spat. “ _We_ are not a couple. _We_ don't need to laugh about _our_ situation. _We_ don't have to make it to next year. _I_ need to make it to next year. _I_ need to fight this shitty thing. _You_ don't have to do anything except check the 'married' box and write my name on some paperwork. We're not together in this, I'm fucking alone, so stop pretending we are this united couple that fights a disease together, the doctor is not here to see you anymore.”

 

And with that, Mickey resumed walking toward the courthouse, leaving Ian alone in his wake. The redhead took a deep breath. He was pissed at Mickey for pushing him away when the only thing he wanted to do was help, but now was not the time. They needed to get married first, and then they could fight.

 

***

 

The judge was a man in his fifties with a bald scalp and thick eyebrows. Ian briefly wondered if it was the same judge who had married Fiona and Gus and he almost laughed at the idea. Mickey looked really uncomfortable, stealing glances at the two other couples present in the room waiting to get married, and avoiding Ian's eyes. When the redhead took his hand, he tried to wriggle his way out of it, but Ian kept strong. They needed to stay believable. When the ring part came, Ian took two dark gray bands out of his pocket and Mickey finally looked at him.

 

“When did you get those?” he whispered.

 

“Bought them yesterday. They're probably too big, but we'll have them fix later.”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes in a _'whatever'_ expression, and he didn't say anything for the rest of the short ceremony.

 

“Now by the power vested in me by the State of Illinois and the Cook County District, I declare you married under the laws of Illinois. You may kiss each other.”

 

Mickey's eyes widened hearing the words of the judge, and Ian could cite all three reasons for that:

1\. The doctor's recommendations were probably still ringing in his ears.

2\. They had never kissed in front of an audience before.

3\. They weren't together anymore.

But the redhead also knew they needed to keep appearances if they wanted to have their marriage validated, so he leaned in, left a quick kiss at the corner of Mickey's mouth, and hugged him briefly but tenderly.

 

“Be nice.” he murmured in the other man's ear, before parting and giving the judge their marriage license for signature.

 

And they found themselves back outside the courthouse in no time. They stood there, awkwardly and in silence for a few minutes, waiting for the other one to speak first.

 

“I gotta go.” Ian finally said. “I'm working. Night shift.”

 

“Okay.” Mickey nodded without really looking interested in the information.

 

“Are you going back to your house?”

 

“Don't have any other choice, do I?”

 

Ian shrugged vaguely in a mix between a nod and a shake of the head, and Mickey started to walk away.

 

“See ya.”

 

“Yeah.” the redhead smiled weakly. “Bye.”

 

***

 

Without surprise, the Milkovich house wasn't locked. Mickey just pushed the door open and took a few steps inside the dark living room. The place was messy, dusty, and creepy, without life. Clearly, nobody had lived there in a while. Mickey briefly wondered where his brothers were, but he didn't make too much of a case out of it, they always had the habit to disappear for some time to god knows where before coming back one day out of the blue. He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face before going to his bedroom. His cold, gray, bedroom, which had stayed in the exact same state he had left it. He tried not to think of his state of mind the last time he was in there as he cleaned the ashtray, throwing away the butts, and lighting the barely-smoked cigarettes. He put all the empty beer cans in a plastic bag, along with some shit he found on the floor and on his dresser. He took the small picture of a certain redhead off the wall, feeling the cracks his skull had left on the wall when he had hit it, and threw it in the bag. He sat on the edge of his unmade bed and smoke in silence for barely a minute, before he stood up again, muttering an inaudible “shit” under his breath and going through the bag to take the picture out. He put it in the last drawer of his dresser, and went to lay on the bed. The ceiling was a weird shade of greyish yellow. He couldn't remember a time when he saw it white. He finished his cigarette and lit another one. And suddenly he was laughing, laughing like a mad man alone in his house, and the events of the last few days hit him. He was out of jail, sick, and married to Ian fucking Gallagher. _Fuck._

 

_***_

 

Sue was good to pick up on Ian's mood, and this time was no exception. After seeing him distracted and lost in his thoughts for about an hour, she finally asked him what was wrong. He raised his green eyes to look at her.

 

“I got married today.”

 

“Why does it look like it's a bad thing?”

 

The redhead seemed to think about the answer for a second.

 

“It isn't.” he said. “At least I don't think so... I love him, I really do, but I always pictured our wedding to be this big romantic thing with our friends and family there, not a run to the courthouse before my shift.”

 

Sue nodded. She didn't even know Ian was seeing anyone.

 

“Also, I'm pretty sure he resents me right now.” the redhead added. “And I don't know what to do to make it right.”

 

“Buy him flowers and chocolate. Always a good start.”

 

Ian laughed, and something lit in his eyes.

 

“Not really the type.” he said, shaking his head, a small smile not leaving his lips.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter again, but it's not very fun, and things get dark toward the very end.  
> We're starting to get into the heart of the story now with Mickey struggling with his new life, his disease, and his feelings, and Ian trying to get him back. I hope you still enjoy it. :)

 

Mickey woke up from his short night to someone knocking on his door. It was a light knocking, but if prison had taught him anything was that being a light sleeper could sometimes save your life. He stayed for a minute in his bed, trying to assess his physical state for the day. He felt okay. Just slightly groggy. So he disentangled himself from his sheets, and dragged his feet to the front door without bothering to dress beyond his tank top and boxer shorts. He opened the door to a smiling redhead.

 

“Coffee and donuts?”

 

“What you're doing here?”

 

“Bringing breakfast to my husband.”

 

“Insurance married, remember?”

 

Mickey, already tired of this conversation, made a move to close the door, but Ian was faster, stretching his hand flat on the wood to keep it open.

 

“I need to talk to you.” he said, making Mickey sigh.

 

The black-haired man took a step back, letting Ian inside the house.

 

“Wow, this place's a dump.” the redhead noticed.

 

“Yeah, Mary Poppins moved out.” Mickey tried to joke.

 

“Haha.” Ian replied humorlessly.

 

Mickey sat heavily on the couch, and Ian moved a few things around to be able to set his paper bag and cup holder on the coffee table. He handed one of the two cups to Mickey.

 

“Black, one sugar.”

 

Mickey hesitated for a second, but he still grabbed it.

 

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

 

Ian took a sip of his own cup, and sat on the chair opposing Mickey.

 

“I think we should tell our families.”

 

“No.” Mickey shook his head. “No fucking way.”

 

“We need to make it believable Mick. If we get caught, I'll loose my job and you'll go back to jail. It's not like I'm asking to move in here or something, I just want to tell our families. We tell them the truth, my siblings won't rat us out, and that way they could testify if the hospital asks questions.”

 

“I doubt that, they all hate me.” Mickey replied, seeing the one big flaw in Ian's plan.

 

“They don't hate you.” the redhead smiled. “Debbie, Carl and Liam adore you. Fiona accepted you – and even if she didn't, she has a terrible boyfriend record so she can't judge. And Lip is just proud, I think he feels in competition with you or some shit.”

 

“In competition with me?”

 

“Yeah, cause back in the days I came coming back to you against his better judgment. He saw me hurt by you, and I think he felt like I chose you over him.”

 

Mickey stayed silent. He didn't really care about Lip's feelings. He thought about _'back in the days'_ – as Ian had put it – and about everything he gave to that redheaded boy without either of them really noticing it. He finished his coffee slowly, and he ate the donut he was offered after Ian insistently pointed out that he needed to feed himself.

 

“We can tell Mandy.” he said after a while. “Only Mandy for now.”

 

“Okay.” Ian nodded.

 

The compromise seemed to sit well by him, and Mickey knew Ian was used to compromise with him. The black-haired man stood up and threw his empty coffee cup in the already filled trash can. He needed to take the bag out later.

 

“I thought we could go re-size our rings today.” Ian suggested, and Mickey wanted nothing more in that instant but to see him get out of his house.

 

“No thanks.” he replied. “M'not wearing mine anyway. And I already got an appointment today.”

 

“An appointment?” Ian asked, thankfully not picking up on the fact that Mickey refused to wear the symbol of their union.

 

“Yeah. Not that it's any of your business, but I have to meet with my PO. And then I gotta go to the tattoo parlor.”

 

“Getting a new tattoo?”

 

“Nope. Getting one modified.”

 

Ian's eyes traveled quickly to Mickey's chest, and the black-haired man thought he saw disappointment, or panic, shoot briefly through the green opals, but the redhead didn't say anything about it.

 

“Are you allowed to do that? I mean considering that...”

 

“That I could poison everybody with my blood?”

 

Ian nodded silently.

 

“I gotta bring my own needles and double-bag them after use, but yeah, I can.”

 

Ian nodded again. A short silence settled between the two men. Once upon a time, this pause could have been comfortable, but now it was just awkward, and Mickey was only waiting for Ian to leave his house. Fortunately, the redhead seemed to catch the feeling, and he took a couple of steps toward the door.

 

“Okay then. I'll go.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Let me know when you talk to Mandy.”

 

“Okay.”

 

***

 

Ian answered his phone without checking the caller ID. He had been perturbed about Mickey's tattoo modification all morning. He kept imagining the other man erasing the tattoo of Ian's name lying across his chest, changing it into some shitty symbolic image, or a pseudo-meaningful message. Yes, the name was written wrong, but Ian loved it for some reason.

 

“Ian Clayton Gallagher!” Mandy's voice bellowed through the phone. “You married my brother?!”

 

“Hello to you too Mandy. It's been a while. How are you?”

 

“Oh don't give me that shit Ian! You married Mickey, what were you thinking? What are you doing to him?”

 

“I'm not doing anything to him.” Ian said with a sigh, thinking about how he was _really_ not doing anything to Mickey, in every sense of the word. “We have an arrangement, he agreed to it.”

 

“But he...” Mandy seemed to hesitate for a moment on the other side of the line. “Fuck Ian, he would jump off a bridge if you ask him to!”

 

“And you think I wouldn't? He's a grown man Mands, he knows what he's doing.”

 

“But you dumped him.”

 

Ian breathed loudly with exasperation. If he had known this would come back to bite him in the ass for the rest of his life...

 

“Yes, I dumped him. _Once._ Do you know how many times _he_ broke _my_ heart? Telling me I meant nothing to him, beating me senseless when I tried to talk to him, marrying Svetlana... This is what we do, this is how we work.”

 

“It wasn't the same thing.”

 

“Yes it was. We break up, he goes to jail, and sometimes I fuck around. And then he's out, and we do it all over again. The only time things were really different was when he married Svetlana and I left. That's the only time I gave up, the only time he was trapped with no date of release.”

 

“So you're telling me you guys being suddenly married is normal?”

 

“It goes a little beyond what we usually do, I'll give you that much, but Mickey needed my help. I couldn't leave him to die alone when I knew there was something I could do.”

 

“Knight in shining armor, huh?”

 

Ian laughed.

 

“Always, Mandy, always.”

 

***

 

The woman read over the file one more time, like she didn't know she was supposed to meet with Mickey today, like she didn't know his unusual situation yet. The black-haired man sighed. He was so tired of these endless meetings with probation officers, parole supervisors, and all this shit.

 

“So,” she finally said, dropping the file on the desk in front of her. “I talked to your doctor, and it looks like you might not be able to work in time to meet your probation requirements.”

 

“So what? I'm going back to jail?”

 

She smiled gently.

 

“No, of course not...”

 

 _They don't want you there, because they can't pay for your treatments._ Mickey filled in the blanks.

 

“You are allowed more time to start working.” she added.

 

So they _really_ didn't want him in jail if the very strict probation rules were changed for him.

 

“How much time?”

 

“We'll wait until your doctor can confirm you're healthy enough to hold a job.”

 

“You know this could take months right?”

 

“Of course I am aware of that.”

 

She smiled again. Mickey hated that half-polite half-patronizing smile.

 

“You will still have to meet with me regularly though.” she kept explaining. “And if you, or I, feel like you are ready to work earlier than expected, we will move things along.”

 

Mickey nodded. The woman looked at the file again.

 

“Have you taken the necessary dispositions for your tattoo like I asked you too?” she asked.

 

“I have. But you do know that I have hepatitis, right? Shit is blood-transmitted so going to the tattoo parlor is not really supposed to be a priority right now.”

 

“I know.” she fucking smiled again. “But we both know it will be easier for you to find a job without those crude words on your hands.”

 

Mickey smiled back, his toothy 'I want to fuck _you_ up' smile. Bitch.

 

***

 

[From Ian] So, Mandy gave me shit.

 

[From Mickey] You surprised?

 

[From Ian] Not really, no.

 

[From Ian] What tattoo did you change?

 

[From Mickey] Fuck off Gallagher.

 

[From Mickey] With 2 Ls.

 

***

 

Mickey put down his phone and smiled. He would be lying if he said he hadn't missed teasing Ian Gallagher. But he was also worried they were slipping back into old flirting habits. _Do you still love him?_ Mandy had asked him, and Mickey's silence had been answer enough. Of course he still loved him. He could barely remember a time when he didn't love Ian Gallagher, and he couldn't imagine a time when he wouldn't love him anymore. But it didn't mean he was ready to forgive. Not the break-up, no, that he could have lived with, if only Ian had came to visit him. If he hadn't totally written Mickey off his life like he was some mole he needed to eliminate in order to stay healthy.

 

Mickey ran his fingers across the ink still covering his heart. Ian Galager. Fucking tumor. Always coming back, especially when he wasn't wanted. Mickey felt like throwing up, but he didn't know if it was because of his feelings or because of his disease. He was supposed to eat, to get stronger the doctor had said, but he didn't feel like it, plus he couldn't keep anything down right now, so what was the point? He abandoned his messy kitchen and empty fridge to go lay down on his bed in his dark bedroom. Maybe things would have been easier if the guy had stabbed him better and finished him right there and then on the prison cold floor...

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I guess we're gonna have to agree that all my chapters will be between 1500 and 2000 words long, because I can't seem to be able to go further than that.
> 
> Also, there is some (light) vomiting in this chapter, because, let's face it, it's one of Mickey's symptoms/side effects of his meds. It's in the first part. You've been warned.
> 
> Last minute note: I just watched the trailer for season 7 three times in a row, and I am SO excited about this!!!!!!! (yes, I belong to those people still excited about the show, and I'm not ashamed to say so)

 

Mickey had an appointment with his doctor at ten, and Ian had exchanged his shift with Sam's to be able to accompany him. He was getting used to the “my husband is very sick” excuse. The thing he couldn't stand though were the looks of pity, like Ian was a soon-to-be widower. Mickey wasn't dying, he would be fine, Ian was sure of it. Or rather, he couldn't bring himself to imagine another outcome to the one in which Mickey lived happily and healthily until he died of old age.

 

The redhead pushed the door of the Milkovich house open – not locked, of course, who would bother to steal something in this dump? – and looked around. It was cold and silent. For a few seconds, Ian thought that Mickey had left without him. Then he heard sounds coming from the bathroom. He opened the door to find Mickey bent over the toilet bowl, vomiting all he – surely didn't – have in the stomach. Ian closed the door behind himself and sat against the wall and its cold tiles. Mickey took a shaky breath and leaned his head back against the edge of the bathtub.

 

“You spent the night here?” Ian asked, breaking the silence.

 

Mickey nodded. He looked exhausted, and sweaty, and Ian wanted nothing more but to shield him from any harm. But he knew he couldn't do that, so he just waited. He waited for Mickey to be ready to get up. He waited to accompany him to his treatment so he could get better.

 

“One out of five.” Mickey suddenly whispered, looking at the ground.

 

“What?”

 

“One person out of five dies of this shit.” he explained, his eyes still fixed on the bathroom floor. “I googled it.”

 

He took another shaky breath, and raised his head to look at Ian.

 

“I'm gonna die.”

 

His voice was broken, and tears were swelling up in his eyes.

 

“You're not gonna die Mick.” Ian answered automatically.

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

Ian just knew it, Mickey wouldn't die. Mickey couldn't die. Not now. Later maybe, when they would be ninety years old and had lived a full life together. But not now.

 

“I won't let you die.” he answered. “I promise.”

 

Mickey nodded, and slowly laid his head on Ian's knees. The redhead wrapped his arms around the other man's body and caressed his scalp with one hand.

 

“I won't let you die.” he repeated in a murmur.

 

***

 

“As we said, I'm going to inject you with interferons once a week for forty-eight weeks.” The doctor explained once again after he had stuck the needle in Mickey's vein. “The treatment can be quite strong, and we don't know yet how you will react. So you need to drink plenty of fluids during the next few hours, and you cannot stay alone tonight, you need to be closely monitored. You need to have someone capable of taking you to the emergencies in case you react badly.”

 

“I'll be there.” Ian promised.

 

Mickey didn't say anything.

 

“You might also feel some side effects during the next few days.” the doctor added. “Including fever, headaches, and hair loss. Do not worry about them, but please notice me during our next appointment.”

  


Mickey nodded, and then waited in silence for Ian to receive his vaccine shot. But once they were out of the hospital and Ian started to dial Rita's number to inform her he couldn't make it tonight, Mickey turned to him with a look of exasperation.

 

“Go to work, I can stay alone for the night.”

 

“No Mick.” Ian shook his head. “I've never missed work, so I can take tonight off, Rita will understand. And I'm not leaving you alone. You can punch me, insult me, ignore me, I don't care, I won't leave you alone.”

 

“You don't have to do this.” Mickey mumbled under his breath, starting to walk toward the L.

 

“For the umpteenth time, I do still care about you.” Ian sighed. “Plus, I need to protect my investment.”

 

“You didn't invest a fucking penny, I'm just using your insurance.”

 

“Semantics.”

 

***

 

Ian made a quick stop at his own house before joining Mickey down the street; he needed to pick a few things up for the night. He saw Fiona's eyes follow him as he filled his backpack with a change of clothes, his toothbrush, his meds, and a few DVDs.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Just out for the night.”

 

“Where?”

 

There was a smirk on Fiona's face and an insinuating tone in her voice. Ian tried to stay evasive, but he was also tempted to tell her the truth. He had promise Mickey he'd wait for his consent though...

 

“New boyfriend?” Fiona asked again.

 

“Nope.” that he could tell her without lying.

 

“Where then?”

 

The redhead looked at the DVDs in his hand. One Van Damme, one Seagal, and another movie he had discovered recently and thought Mickey would like. He glanced back up at Fiona.

 

“I'll be back tomorrow.”

 

***

 

Mickey sat on the couch for most of the evening. Ian had insisted they'd watch all three movies he had brought, and Mickey was in no condition to refuse. He felt like hell. And he couldn't even drink alcohol or smoke pot – he made a mental note to ask his doctor about medicinal marijuana during his next appointment. He might have dozed off for some time during the second movie, because he woke up during the ending credits, Ian's worried eyes fixed on him.

 

“I'm fine.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes, come on! You of all people should know how annoying it is to be nursed and babysat.”

 

Ian dropped his eyes to his hands.

 

“Yes, I know. Sorry. Do you want to eat something?”

 

Mickey sighed. Ian had forced fed him a PB&J sandwich for lunch – as Mickey didn't remember when he had last eaten – but the food hadn't been long to come back up.

 

“No, still not hungry. And even if I was, I probably wouldn't keep it down, so what's the point?”

 

“You need to eat Mick.” Ian insisted.

 

Mickey closed his eyes.

 

“Stop calling me like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“ _Mick_. Stop it.”

 

“But I've always done that.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You don't like it?”

 

“Not sure you've earned the privilege back.”

 

Ian looked disappointed but didn't say anything. _Good._ Mickey wasn't sure he could have handled him saying anything about this request right now. His head felt heavy. He probably slept again for a few seconds, before being woken up by a hand on his shoulder.

 

“If you don't eat that's okay for now, but you could go sleep in your bed, it'd be more comfortable.” Ian said softly.

 

Mickey stood up, the redhead right by his side.

 

“I can walk on my own.”

 

“Okay.”

 

The black-haired man headed to his bedroom, and was about to close the door when Ian stopped him.

 

“You're not sleeping in here.” Mickey told him.

 

“I'm not leaving you.” Ian replied. “I'll sleep on the chair.”

 

Mickey sat on his bed and looked at Ian take a seat on the uncomfortable wooden chair. He thought about that time, an eternity ago, when he had brought Ian back from the club, unconscious, and had watched him sleep all night on his bed, sat on this very chair, to make sure he was going to be okay, and also that he wouldn't disappear in the middle of the night. The redhead probably didn't remember, but the similarity of the situation made Mickey's heart twinge. He laid on his back, and stared at the ceiling for some time.

 

“Remember when you punched me because I cared too much?” he asked in the dark.

 

“I didn't punch you because you cared too much.” Ian sighed. “I was sick of you taking gloves with me and treating me like a baby.”

 

“Yeah, okay. So how would you feel if I punched you right now?”

 

***

 

Mickey woke up in the morning to the sun pouring through the curtains. He hadn't felt sick at all that night. It was supposed to be a good sign, right? He looked around the bedroom. It was empty. He didn't know if he was happy or sad about it, but he barely had time to ask himself the question as he heard somebody rummage through the kitchen. He left his bedroom to find a redhead making pancakes. Another flashback came to Mickey's mind – and not really a good one.

 

“Hey.” he said carefully.

 

“Hi. You're up.” Ian smiled.

 

“You slept all night on the chair?”

 

Ian shrugged.

 

“Yeah. I didn't sleep much, but that's okay.”

 

Mickey watched him take the pancakes from the pan to put them on a clean plate. All the dishes had been done, the trash taken out, the cupboards and fridge emptied of the rotten food, the sink and cooking plates washed and shone.

 

“Did you clean the kitchen?”

 

“Yeah.” Ian nodded. “I'll do the bathroom tomorrow, and then maybe the living room.”

 

“You don't have to do this.”

 

“I don't mind.”

 

Mickey sat in front of his pancakes – even though he was pretty sure he wouldn't eat them – and looked at Ian fly around him. He didn't like his energy.

 

“Did you take your meds?”

 

The redhead genuinely smiled, and sat next to Mickey with two mugs filled to the brim with coffee.

 

“Yes, I did.” he answered, and Mickey could read honesty in his eyes. “Did you take yours?”

 

The black-haired man let a small laugh escape and gave the redhead the finger. Ian's energy had slightly died down when he had sat, and, from up close, he actually looked _'normal'_ – if that was a word Mickey was allowed to use – so maybe he had just seemed very energetic because Mickey felt so slow and heavy in his movements. And Mickey hated himself for worrying about Ian right now when he should have been worrying about his own problems, about his own disease. Love was fucking stupid.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went on a rant to poor [JAinsel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JAinsel) yesterday about my place in the Shameless fandom. I was feeling pretty down about the fact that every time I express my positivity and love for Shameless I'm getting shot down mercilessly. The thing is that I do still love the show. I really enjoyed season 6, I think it was a good season, way better than season 5, and I can't say that out loud because people hate me for my opinions. I can't stand the negativity of this fandom, so I try to stay away from the drama, but sometimes I want to share my positive vibes, and it never works... The last time I wrote a post saying that I actually like Caleb and explaining why, I received death threats. People are that crazy! I know that a lot of people are pissed at the show, and I respect that. I won't tell you what to think of the show, if you want to be bitter and angry, please do, that's your choice. But the problem is that apparently it doesn't work the other way around. If you want to be happy about the show, you just can't. I hate that so much.  
> (Just FYI, I'm mentioning JAinsel here but just as someone I talked to, not as someone who's been mean to me, I need that to be clear.)
> 
> Anyway... It feels good to share all that. :)
> 
> As for this chapter, there are mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts in the first part, so if this is a trigger for you, feel free to jump directly to the first three little ***.
> 
> Also this chapter is longer than the previous ones and... well... you'll see. ;)

 

Mickey spent the next couple of days alone in his house, between his bed and his couch, sleeping a lot, and watching shitty TV. He managed to eat half a piece of bread one morning, threw up only three times in forty-eight hours, and he never forgot to reply monosyllabically to Ian's worried texts so that the other man wouldn't come barging into his house to make sure he was still alive. Mickey didn't really want to see him, he knew Ian had to work, and he was quite enjoying his loneliness, especially after he had spent too many months sharing his tiny cell with three other inmates. He needed his personal space back.

 

It was on the third day, when Mickey finally felt good enough to make himself some eggs and toast, that Ian came back, bursting the door open to let the cold air from the outside invade the inside.

 

“Hey, you're eating!”

 

Mickey nodded, chewing his food slowly. Ian sat in front of him at the table and dropped a pile of paper between them.

 

“You had mail.”

 

“I know.” Mickey said.

 

He just hadn't bother to open it because it was probably just adds for crap he didn't need, or bills he wouldn't pay. Ian took the envelope on top of the pile and waved it in front of Mickey's nose.

 

“This one is from the insurance company.”

 

Mickey sighed and took the envelope, opening it carelessly, and unfolding the piece of paper inside. Ian was looking at him anxiously, like the document was going to burst into flames or something.

 

“Just administrative shit I gotta fill out.”

 

The redhead released a small relieved breath, and handed Mickey a pen. The brunet rolled his eyes and took it. Name. Address. Phone number. Medical history. Marital status? _Married, apparently._ Child(ren) under your care? _None – Svetlana wasn't crazy enough for that._ Emergency contact? Mickey raised his head to meet Ian's eyes. The redhead looked back, having obviously read the document upside down just as Mickey was filling it.

 

“I guess you gotta put my name here, it makes more sense, considering, you know... We're supposed to be married.”

 

Mickey nodded slowly and looked back at the piece of paper waiting for him. The pen hung a few inches above the line he was supposed to write on as he remembered something.

 

“Do you still have your list?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the administrative ink.

 

“My list?” Ian repeated.

 

“Yeah, you know, your... list.”

 

He looked back up at Ian. The redhead didn't seem to get what Mickey was talking about.

 

“Your suicide list.” the black-haired man blurted out.

 

Ian's eyes widened slightly in understanding, but he didn't say anything, he just reached inside his pocket and took his wallet out. He opened it and picked a small white square from behind his ID. He gave it to Mickey, who unfolded it carefully. It was a simple piece of paper with three names written on it, each of them accompanied by a phone number. _Mick. Fiona. Lip._ Mickey looked at it for some time.

 

“Have you ever... Needed it?”

 

Ian let a small silence stretch before he answered.

 

“I thought about it, once.”

 

Mickey swallowed painfully. This was not the answer he had wanted to hear.

 

“It was a few weeks after I came to see you last. My life was shit, and I just had one more very bad day. Lip had found me this job as a janitor on campus. It was horrible. At first I thought it would be cool to hang out with Lip more, you know, like old times, but turns out he was just this douchebag student, and I realized I would never be more than just a janitor with a fucked up brain. We got into a fight, and I even tried to go to this meeting for LGBT students, but they were just a bunch of privileged pricks. I was alone with my fucked up brain, and no future, and I found myself onto this bridge, and I wondered what it would be like to just... jump...”

 

“And what happened?”

 

“A car crashed into another one on the bridge. The fucker ran away, and this lady was trapped in her burning car, and I just... I saved her. And I guess I found my calling that night.”

 

Ian chuckled lowly, not meeting the other man's eyes. Mickey put a soothing hand on his husband's arm.

 

***

 

The following week, on the second time Mickey took his treatment, Ian insisted again on sleeping at his house. He stayed on the chair, he cooked breakfast in the morning, and he spent an entire afternoon cleaning the living room.

 

On the third week, he cleaned the bathroom, and he slept on the chair in Mickey's bedroom for two nights in a row as Mickey felt quite awful.

 

They kept their conversation to a minimum, asking the other how he was feeling, and trying not to exchange about the past. Ian was still doing his best to win Mickey over, and Mickey was still shutting himself up. On the inside though, he was melting, he could physically feel his heart melt for the redhead, but he couldn't say it, he couldn't make a move on it, it was too early.

 

On the fourth week, just before Ian arrived at his house to pick him up for their appointment – Mickey's usual treatment, and Ian's second shot at the vaccine – Mickey went into Mandy's room and took the mattress from her bed, dragging it to his own bedroom and laying it on the floor, sticking it between the foot of the bed and the dresser. The redhead saw it, but didn't say anything. He just smiled, and the two men were on their way to the hospital.

 

***

 

Ian woke up on a real mattress for once. He was getting used to sleep at Mickey's again, but the chair was quite uncomfortable. He had been happily surprised to find Mandy's mattress at the foot of Mickey's bed that afternoon. The redhead stirred and stood up, walking to the bathroom while still rubbing his eyes. He emptied his bladder, and took his meds. It was only when he went back into the main room that he noticed that the TV was on, and someone was sitting on the couch, his back facing the screen, and looking at Ian with a smirk.

 

“So you're back.” Iggy stated. “I heard Mickey was out, but I didn't think you'd be back so soon.”

 

Ian wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer him – and even if he was, he wouldn't know what to say – so he let the other man go back to his TV, and headed to the kitchen. Mickey exited his room a couple of minutes later, and Iggy reacted the same – turning away from the TV with his smirk.

 

“So he's back, huh?”

 

The black-haired man gave his brother the finger.

 

“What you're doing here anyway?” he asked.

 

Iggy shrugged.

 

“Was around, doing a couple of jobs. I was crashing with a girl for a while, but she kicked me out after I slept with her twin sister – hey, I thought it was her! – so I thought I'd come back to the house. Didn't think I'd find you busy.”

 

Iggy jerked his head toward Ian, silently preparing breakfast in the kitchen without loosing a bit of the conversation. Mickey didn't acknowledge him though, keeping his attention on Iggy.

 

“Staying long?”

 

The blond man shrugged again.

 

“I guess. Few weeks at least...”

 

Mickey nodded, and finally joined Ian in the kitchen.

 

“Guess I won't need you anymore.”

 

Ian raised his head too fast.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Iggy's here now.” Mickey said simply. “He can check on me. Plus I'm getting used to the treatment, I don't need a live-in nurse anymore.”

 

Ian looked at Mickey for a few seconds, but the brunet did his best to avoid his gaze.

 

“Okay.” the redhead finally answered, finishing to peal his orange. “I'll leave after breakfast.”

 

***

 

As soon as they finished eating, Ian went into Mickey's room to pack his bag. Mickey wanted to stop him more than anything, but he didn't move. He didn't need him that much anymore – even though he already knew Iggy wouldn't be much use – but he couldn't stand having Ian in such proximity anymore, they were slipping into old habits too fast, and Mickey didn't want them to go back there, not like this anyway, things weren't that easy.

 

Ian exited the room with his bag on his shoulder, and vaguely nodded to the two Milkovich brothers as he headed out of the house.

 

“You didn't have to kick him out.” Iggy said to Mickey once the door was closed. “I don't mind you two doing the nasty while I'm around, I'm used to not listening by now.”

 

“We're not together.” Mickey admitted, sitting next to his brother on the couch. “We're not fucking.”

 

“So what are you doing?”

 

Mickey shrugged. He didn't know himself. They were friends maybe, hanging out, fraud-buddies, they surely had a nurse-patient relationship. They were blurry, and that was exactly the problem.

 

***

 

Ian hadn't seen Mickey in two weeks, and he was missing him. They had texted a little, mostly Mickey telling Ian not to come to the doctor's appointments, and Ian asking him how he was doing, but not much more.

 

“Don't you think the pasta are cooked by now?”

 

Ian blinked, looking down at the pan filled with pasta he was still steering. Debbie was watching him from her seat on the other side of the kitchen counter.

 

“Sorry.” he mumbled, turning the gas off.

 

“You look very... distracted these days.” Debbie stated. “And you're not seeing your secret boyfriend anymore.”

 

“My secret boyfriend?”

 

“Oh come on, you've been sneaking in and out of the house all day long for the past month, going out for the entire night sometimes, only coming back in the morning. You totally have a boyfriend.”

 

“I don't.” Ian answered, not quite sure if it was a lie or not.

 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out to read his incoming text.

 

[From Mickey] Iggy's not here. Don't feel good. Come over.

 

“Fuck.” he swore under his breath. “I gotta go.”

 

He rushed to grab the backpack he kept ready in his bedroom, leaving the pasta on the stove, and ran down the stairs to the front door.

 

“Secret boyfriend?” he heard Debbie ask just as he closed the door.

 

***

 

The house was dark, and Ian found Mickey lying on his bed, above the blankets, in his boxers and T-shirt.

 

“You okay?” the redhead asked. “Do you need me to take you to the ER?”

 

“No.” Mickey shook his head. “I don't feel great, but I can handle it. I just didn't want to be alone.”

 

“Okay.” Ian nodded.

 

He looked around. The chair was still here, but Mandy's mattress was gone. He didn't know if he was supposed to bring it back in or not.

 

“Here.” Mickey called as if he had read Ian's mind, moving just slightly to make room on his bed.

 

The redhead hesitated for a second, but finally kicked his shoes and jacket off, and climbed in the bed, lying down on his side to face Mickey. They stayed like this for a while, Mickey looking at the ceiling, and Ian looking at Mickey, neither of them saying a word. After a good ten minutes of silence, Mickey turned on his side to face the redhead. He caressed his cheek softly and brought their foreheads together. Ian caught his hand and intertwined their fingers, keeping them on his cheek.

 

“We can't kiss.” Mickey murmured. “No exchange of saliva.”

 

“I know.” Ian answered, his voice not raising above Mickey's. “But can I do that?”

 

He kissed the corner of Mickey's mouth.

 

“You can.”

 

“And that?”

 

He kissed Mickey's cheek.

 

“You can too.”

 

“And that?”

 

He kissed Mickey's jawline.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And that?”

 

He kissed Mickey's neck.

 

The black-haired man mumbled something inaudible, and Ian slid his hands under his shirt, lifting it off to keep trailing kisses on his chest. Mickey's skin was paler than the redhead remembered, and the man was definitely thinner. He had lost too much weight for Ian's taste – making the redhead even more worried for his health – but he still smelled the same. Ian mouthed at the skin above Mickey's pelvis. He wanted to spend his life here, buried in the scent and soothing feeling of Mickey's body. But he also wanted to do a lot of dirtier things to this man. So he left one last tender kiss there, and he took Mickey's boxers off in one swift movement, freeing his hard, beautiful, erection. Ian smiled and sighed at the same time. He had missed this so much. The sex, the emotional connection, having Mickey all to himself in the most intimate way...

 

He started to lower his head, ready to take all of the other man's hard member into his mouth, when he felt Mickey's hand stop him. The redhead raised his eyes to look at his husband shake his head.

 

“Rubber. All the way, all the time.” the black-haired man explained, and Ian nodded.

 

He sat back on his knees and waited for Mickey to search through his drawers until he found a string of condoms and gave one to Ian. The redhead rolled it delicately on Mickey's penis, and resumed his action. He licked the tip, and ran his tongue over the length, before raising his head back up.

 

“I don't like it. It's disgusting.”

 

“You put your tongue in my ass and _that's_ disgusting?”

 

“I like the way you taste. This just tastes like latex.”

 

“Well, get used to it.”

 

“I'll buy flavored condoms for next time.”

 

Mickey didn't say anything, he just handed Ian the bottle of lube and another condom, and he laid his head back down on the bed. The redhead opened the cap of the bottle and coated a couple of his fingers, bringing them to Mickey's ass to circle the rim with his index. He moved carefully as he slid the digit in, and Mickey moaned. Ian wished he could have captured the sound to replay it at will in the future. He didn't push his index in too far, probing lightly at the entrance, stretching Mickey out slowly, but the brunet seemed to have other ideas in mind as he thrust back, silently asking for more. And the redhead obeyed, adding a second finger and scissoring the two digits. He resumed the action a few times, until he felt Mickey becoming really impatient, and he took his fingers out. He took his clothes off quickly, and grabbed the condom he had put aside, tearing the package open and rolling it onto his penis before covering it with more lube. Mickey made himself comfortable, taking off the piece of latex still covering his own penis, and sliding a pillow under the small of his back. Ian kneeled between his legs. They looked at each other for a beat, and the redhead pushed himself into Mickey. He released the breath he had been holding for so long. He was back home. He heard Mickey do the same thing. They were together again, reunited at last. Ian laid his forehead against Mickey's, and the two men looked at each other for a while.

 

“I love you.” Mickey murmured, the words hesitant, matching the fear in his eyes.

 

“I love you too.” Ian answered with a soft smile.

 

“Okay.” Mickey said, obviously relieved by the outcome of his confession, and giving Ian permission to start moving.

 

So the redhead did. He rocked slowly, keeping their bodies as connected as possible, sweat accumulating between their skin, shuddering breaths meeting somewhere in the couple of inches that were separating their faces. Ian took his time, he didn't want this to be over, not yet, not now, and Mickey did nothing to rush him. They made love at the slowest pace, enjoying every second of it like it was the last. They were the last two men on earth and they had nothing else planned but this, sharing with the other everything they had missed during the past few months, promising each other the world and its eternity.

 

Ian felt his orgasm build too fast for his own taste, his body reminding him how much he had missed Mickey and how good it felt to be back inside him, and he came without warning, spilling into the condom, and feeling Mickey's own release covering both their stomachs.

 

Ian pulled out of Mickey and laid on his back next to him. He took the condom off and tied it before throwing it in the trashcan near the dresser. There was so much he wanted to say, and at the same time he also just wanted to lay there with Mickey without exchanging a word until they would both fall asleep.

 

“You should go.” Mickey's voice said, breaking the comfortable silence, and ruining the moment they had just shared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this sex scene ended in such a sap fest. Please forgive me, I felt weirdly super emotional writing this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received so much love, comments, and kudos on my last chapter, I should whine more often! No seriously, thank you so much all for your love and support, it was amazing, I really appreciated it. :)
> 
> And I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter, there's a lot of talking, but I think all of it is necessary.

 

Ian woke up with a smile on his face. He knew it was stupid considering the way Mickey had kicked him out the previous night, but he couldn't help but hope that maybe they had done some progress in their relationship. There had been some _'I love you'_ s exchanged after all.

 

He walked down the stairs to the kitchen only to be stopped mid-way by the voices coming from downstairs.

 

“I heard Mickey's been out for a few weeks now.” Debbie's voice said.

 

“Yeah, I've seen him in front of his house the other day.” Carl's voice added.

 

“Do you think Ian knows?” Fiona's voice asked.

 

“Should we really tell him?” Lip's voice replied.

 

Ian rolled his eyes and made his presence known. All the voices went quiet when he entered the room, and his siblings pretended to be very absorbed in their breakfast. The redhead went to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee.

 

“I know he's out.” he said casually, looking down at the brown liquid. “I've seen him, he's very sick.”

 

He raised his head to find all five pairs of eyes fixed on him – Liam had probably just joined in by imitation. Debbie was the first one to talk.

 

“He's sick? Is it bad?”

 

Ian shrugged.

 

“Could be worse. He's not dying or anything.”

 

“And you've seen him?”

 

“Yes, Lip, I've seen him. And I don't care what you think right now.”

 

“Is he your secret boyfriend?” Debbie wondered with a smile.

 

“I don't have a secret boyfriend, Debs.”

 

“So he's just your boyfriend then?” Carl chipped in.

 

Ian shook his head.

 

“No, he's not.”

 

He looked at his siblings, all watching him from their seats around the table while he still stood near the counter. He lowered his head back to his coffee.

 

“Wegotmarried.” he mumbled from behind his mug.

 

“What?”

 

“You did what?”

 

“We are... kinda... married.”

 

All the eyes widened – except for Liam's, who still didn't really get what was happening.

 

“Why?”

 

“When?”

 

“Why don't you live at his place then?”

 

“Why weren't we invited?”

 

Ian chuckled. His siblings all had their own priorities apparently.

 

“It's not a real marriage.” he explained. “We just... He needed a health insurance. And I would appreciate if you kept that for yourselves.”

 

The redhead looked especially at Lip.

 

“Hey, I won't send my own brother to jail. Even if he's being very stupid right now.”

 

Ian rolled his eyes at Lip and his judgment.

 

“So you're not back together?” Debbie asked, sounding almost disappointed.

 

“No, we're not really... Well... No. I don't think so.”

 

***

 

Mickey woke up with a headache, a sore ass, and a deep feeling of self-loathing. He had texted Ian for a booty call, what a stupid thing to do. And the worse part was that it hadn't been just fucking, with their late-night confessions, their touches, their slow pace, they had made fucking love, and Mickey was hating himself more than ever. He stayed laying on his bed for way too long, wishing he could kick his own ass for stupidity.

 

For the first time in weeks, Ian actually knocked on the door, and Mickey instantly knew it meant they had to _'talk'_. He was tempted not to open the door, but he did had to go to his medical appointment, and he knew Ian was very much aware of that too. So the black-haired man took a deep breath, grabbed his wallet and his phone, and exited his house. He stopped for a second in front of Ian.

 

“We're not talking about this.”

 

And he started walking toward the nearest L station.

 

“But... Mickey!”

 

He stopped again and turned to the redhead.

 

“Don't do this Gallagher. What happened last night? It was a mistake. So just forget it, okay?”

 

The two men stood a few feet apart, looking at each other for a beat. Ian seemed to be looking for something in Mickey's eyes, when he finally gave in.

 

“Okay.”

 

Mickey nodded and started walking again. Ian moved along side him. He didn't say anything as they went through the few streets separating them from the station. He didn't say anything as they climbed the stairs to the platform. He didn't say anything as they waited for a train. He didn't say anything as they boarded a car. And he didn't say anything as they found two empty seats.

 

“I can't do this.” he snapped after they passed the first station. “I can't play this game anymore! Something happened last night, and we need to talk about it.”

 

Mickey looked up to see these intense green eyes watching him. He wasn't sure he knew how to make Ian understand that he needed to not talk about this for a while, until he had figured out what to do with... _them_.

 

“Remember what you asked from me when you came back from the army, after I came to get you at the club and you went back to your own place?” he asked slowly. “Remember what was your condition for us to get back together?”

 

The redhead nodded.

 

“Yeah I do.”

 

“Well...” Mickey sighed. “I want to ask you the same thing.”

 

“You want me to suck your dick right here right now?” Ian asked in surprise, and a little too loudly for Mickey's taste.

 

“No, not now!” the brunet whispered. “We're in a packed train!”

 

“I've done worse...”

 

Mickey shook his head. He didn't need to think about that right now.

 

“I meant: I think it's my turn to make the rules now.” he explained.

 

Ian's eyebrows shot high on his forehead.

 

“Oh really?” he exclaimed. “So what? I just have to wait around until you're ready to have a boyfriend? And hope that someday maybe you'll kiss me? No thank you, I've already done all that.”

 

“Hey, I've been doing everything _you_ wanted until now!” Mickey retorted.

 

“Yeah, and before that, before I came back, you were the one making the rules. Remember that? When you pushed me away every time I took one tiny step toward you?” Ian snarled back. “I think it's time for us both to make the rules, _together_. Otherwise, I don't think this is going to work.”

 

“Okay, then it won't work.”

 

“Seriously? I thought we were adults now! I thought we were ready to have an adult relationship, but no, I guess you're still a scared little boy!”

 

“Oh fuck off! Go back to your fucking fireman, your dinner party, your theater and all these gay shit if you miss it so much!”

 

“Fuck you Mickey.”

 

The electronic voice announced the name of their stop, and Ian stood up. He walked through the doors without looking back, and Mickey followed him, pissed and silent.

 

***

 

Mickey's doctor seemed genuinely happy to see Ian – it had truly been a while since he had came to an appointment and he was actually still wondering why he had stuck today after his fight with Mickey on the L. The man in the white coat didn't look oblivious to the tension though – not that it was hard to miss the way the two men avoided each other's gaze and Ian's angry silence.

 

“Mr Gallagher.” he said as they stood up after Mickey's shot of interferon. “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

 

Ian looked at Mickey, but the other man was already heading through the door, so the redhead sighed and sat back on his chair.

 

“It has been a while.” the doctor noted.

 

“Yeah.” Ian nodded. “I'm sorry, it's not always easy getting out of work to come here.”

 

“That's okay, whether or not you accompany your husband to his medical appointments is really your choice.” the man smiled, and Ian nodded again. “We both know the treatment can be very hard on him.” the doctor added. “But it can also be very hard on the patient's partner and family. I won't lie to you: he needs you, and he will probably need you for as long as the disease is here, even if it's sometimes hard for him to say it – and Mickey doesn't seem like a very talkative kind of guy – but you also need to take care of yourself, and, well, if it helps, I can give you the names of support groups for the close ones of people suffering with heavy, lengthy illnesses. You don't have to go, it's just in case you need to talk to someone who's going through the same things as you do.”

 

The man grabbed a small piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Ian. The redhead took it and looked at it for a while. He wasn't really considering himself as Mickey's partner lately, but somehow the idea of a support group seemed very appealing. He thanked the doctor, and exited the room, finding Mickey waiting for him near the door. The redhead stuck the piece of paper in his pocket before the other man could see it – he had the feeling Mickey wouldn't be so keen on the idea.

 

“So, the old man wanted you to fuck him?”

 

Ian looked up at his husband for the second time since the train. How could that be the first thing that popped into Mickey's mind?

 

“No! And I'm pretty sure I saw a picture of his wife and kids on his desk.”

 

“Never stopped you before...”

 

“Fuck you Mickey.”

 

***

 

He closed the front door of his house and leaned his head back against the wood, closing his eyes. Mickey was alone again, and, for some reason, the image of Ian fucking his doctor couldn't stop dancing around his mind. He was about fifty percent sure that wasn't the reason why the old man in white had asked the redhead to stick around after his appointment, but it was still a distinct possibility.

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

The black-haired man jumped from surprise and opened his eyes.

 

“Fuck Mandy! What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

The woman shrugged.

 

“It's still sort of my house too you know. And I wanted to come check on you.”

 

Mickey shook his head and went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water – and he so wished it could have been a glass of beer.

 

“Oh yeah?” he snorted, turning back to his sister. “And where were you for the past two months? You didn't seem to really care then.”

 

“First of all, fuck you.” Mandy replied. “You think I don't care? I'm the _only one_ who came to visit you in jail, _all_ the fucking times you've been there. And you don't have any lesson to give me: when was the last time you've been there for me?”

 

“Aye, I was ready to kill that fucking Kenyatta and bury him in the yard, you just didn't let me!”

 

Mandy cracked a smile.

 

“Okay. So now that we proved our love for each other... I'm sorry. I was away on a trip with one of my regulars. He took me to LA, he had to meet some fancy entrepreneur for an important contract, and he wanted me there with him. It was quite fun, and warm.”

 

Mickey smiled back. He still wasn't completely sure he liked what his sister was doing for a living, but she seemed quite happy about it, so it was enough for him.

 

“So how are you?” Mandy asked, sitting at the table and grabbing Iggy's old bag of chips laying there to shove a handful into her mouth.

 

Mickey shrugged, and sat facing her.

 

“I'm okay I guess. At least I'm not dying yet.”

 

Mandy nodded and swallowed her mouthful of the salty snack.

 

“And what about Ian? How are things between you two?”

 

Mickey shrugged again. This question was kicking him in the ass every time...

 

“Hey, you think you could help me find a guy?” he suddenly asked, the idea just popping into his head. “Like a... date?”

 

“That bad, huh?” Mandy joked.

 

Mickey just raised his eyebrows.

 

“Since when do you need my help to find a guy?”

 

“Cause I want to find a decent guy, not just a random fuck. It has to be someone... datable.”

 

“And somehow you think I'm good at finding decent guys?”

 

“Come on Mands.”

 

Mandy sighed and took some more chips.

 

“Okay, okay.” she agreed. “I'll help you find the perfect guy to piss your redhead off.”

 

***

 

Ian waited three days before going back to Mickey's. He wished he could just move on and forget this man ever existed, but life just wasn't that kind. He knocked on the door. Four times. No answer. Something in his chest started to panic, and he burst the door open. The house was empty. No Mickey in the bathroom or lying on his bed. Just an empty house. Where the fuck was Mickey? He had been a real hermit lately, only going out for his medical appointments, and very rarely for grocery shopping. Maybe that was where he was. At 9pm? Ian walked back out of the house and hesitated for some time on the porch. He had time, he could wait for him. He wouldn't be that long, right? And it wasn't too cold outside. So the redhead sat on the highest step and waited. He waited. And he waited. He waited for two long hours before he saw Mickey walk around the corner, walking – way too closely – with another guy.

 

“Who the fuck is that?” Ian asked, standing up as the two men crossed the gate.

 

“That's Ted.” Mickey answered simply. “We went on a date.”

 

The guy – Ted – had a small smile on his lips and presented his hand for Ian to shake. The redhead ignored him and kept his focus on Mickey.

 

“You went on a date?” he repeated, not quite sure he believed the words he was saying. “Why?”

 

“Because I'm free to do so.” Mickey replied, his face hard and challenging. “You broke up with me, remember?”

 

Oh, so they were back at that.

 

“Yes I did, because I needed to figure some stuff out by myself, not because I stopped loving you!”

 

“Oh so you love me now, huh?” Mickey sneered.

 

“Of course I fucking love you!” Ian shouted back, frustrated because they probably had this conversation about a hundred times already. “We're married! You think I would have suggested that if I didn't at least care about you?!”

 

“Oh stop using our marriage as an excuse, you know as well as me how fake it is! It's just a fucking piece of paper!”

 

Ian was about to yell something back when the reality of Mickey's words hit him. Just a piece of paper... He had said the same thing about his marriage with Svetlana. Ian was no different then her. _Just a piece of paper..._

 

“Not to me...” he muttered, hoping the confession would get something out of Mickey like it had the first time it had been said.

 

But Mickey just looked at him harshly.

 

“Well tough shit.”

 

Mickey supported Ian's gaze for a couple more seconds before he turned back toward the gate.

 

“Ted...”

 

“He left when we started yelling at each other.” Ian said, the anger and desperation still very much present in his voice.

 

“He was boring anyway.” Mickey shrugged, before climbing the few steps separating him from his house and violently closing the door behind himself.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but heavier. And probably one of my favorites so far...

 

His fist connected with the wall and Mickey cursed loudly. One day he would really need to buy a punching bag. He looked at the hole he had left in the plaster and punched another time, missing the spot by a few inches, thereby creating another crack in the wall. He muttered a string of 'fuck' under his breath and closed his eyes. He knew he was about to cry and was trying to stall the first tears. He didn't know what he was doing anymore, his life was just a succession of bad decisions and regrets, and these past few days he had pushed away the only thing – the only person – that made his life worth living. And why? Because he was fucking scared. Scared to get hurt again, scared to loose him, scared to not be enough... He was almost starting to regret the time he was just scared that this dad would kill him. At least back then he knew more or less what to do to avoid his faith. Now he was just... lost. Completely lost. And alone. And fucking sick.

 

_***_

 

He woke up some time later, his bedroom still pitched black and the moon still high in the sky. He rolled out of bed and crawled to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light, just emptying his stomach in the toilet bowl. He felt cold, shivering, and his heart was beating too fast. _A normal side effects_ , his doctor would say. Fuck him, fuck the treatment, fuck the fucking disease, and fuck the stupid side effects...

 

He went back to his bed about two hours later, just before sunrise, and laid above the sheets. He was too hot now. And his head was killing him like crazy. When the light started pouring through the curtains, he was thankful he had at least thought about closing them at some point, because he wasn't sure he could have handled a full stream of sun right now.

 

***

 

He slept – or maybe he didn't – all through the day, his body alternating between cold and hot, and his head killing him slowly.

 

He heard sounds in the house just after sundown, but he couldn't move, he couldn't even scare the burglar away. Not that he had anything worth stealing anyway. He heard someone open his bedroom door, and then close it. He felt a heavy weight lie next to him on the bed, and Mickey instantly knew who it was. The other person didn't touch him, they just stay there, breathing regularly in the silence of the room.

 

“Headache?” Ian finally asked, his voice not raising above a whisper.

 

“Migraine.” Mickey replied in the same way.

 

“I have those too sometimes. It's like I can feel my meds working, I feel them pushing, crushing parts of my brain to make it normal. Hurts like a bitch.”

 

Mickey didn't say anything, he just reached between them to lace his fingers with Ian's.

 

“How does yours feel?” the redhead wondered.

 

“Like I'm on a boat – not that I've ever been on a boat before. It's like the mattress is waving, I'm not stable, I'm constantly moving and it makes me nauseous. And at the same time somebody is using a jackhammer in my head.”

 

Ian squeezed his hand tighter and Mickey breathed deeply.

 

***

 

They woke up in the exact position. Mickey first. He was still nauseous, and his head felt heavy, but he could say without a doubt that he was feeling better. He glazed down at their hands still intertwined and slowly detached his fingers from Ian's. He sat and turned so that his feet were flat on the floor and his back was facing the redhead. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.

 

“Hey.” Ian's sleepy voice said from behind him. “Feeling better?”

 

“Kinda.”

 

Mickey stood up and grabbed a pair of pants lying on the floor. He put them on, and noticed Ian had remained fully clothed. He didn't dwell on it for too long, and took off his shirt to replace it by a cleaner one.

 

“I think I'm gonna go see my doctor today.” he said. “Haven't felt that bad in a while, better check with him.”

 

“Okay.” the redhead nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

 

Mickey shrugged and grabbed a pair of socks in his dresser.

 

“Do as you want man.”

 

Ian caught his arm as Mickey walked past him.

 

“Mickey.” he said, his eyes trying to meet the other man's. “Do you want me to come with you?”

 

The brunet detached himself from the grip.

 

“Yeah, whatever.” he muttered, already out of the room, looking for his shoes.

 

Yes, he wanted Ian to come. He always wanted Ian next to him when he was in that creepy medical office surrounded by posters about diseases and ready to have a fucking huge needle planted in his arm.

 

***

 

_Nothing alarming_ , the good doc said, _just a_ _delayed_ _reaction to the treatment. They should remain cautious, but_ _Mickey didn't seem to be rejecting the medication so everything was fine._

 

The black-haired man was patting his pockets, looking for his dear, sweet medicinal weed – _doctor's orders –_ when a tall, lanky man on his way to baldness walked up to him – and Ian.

 

“Are you um... Mister Milkovich? And um... Mister Gallagher?” the guy asked, empathizing his words at the weirdest places.

 

“Yeah.” Mickey nodded.

 

“I'm um... Bert Gilborn, I work with the insurance company.”

 

“Is there something wrong with Mickey's health insurance?” Ian immediately jumped in, on the edge of loosing his chill.

 

“No, it's just that... um... Your marriage date is um... close to Mister Milkovich's diagnosis. Care to explain?”

 

“Have you noticed it's also close to his release from prison?” Ian replied. “It's kinda hard to marry someone who's in jail, isn't it?”

 

“Yes. I guess it's um... difficult.”

 

“We could say that indeed.” the redhead continued. “Mickey and I have been together for years now, and he proposed to me a few months back, but, unfortunately, he was arrested like an hour later, so it kind of postponed our plans.”

 

“Together for years?” Bert repeated.

 

“Yeah.” Ian nodded. “On and off sometimes, but mostly on. You can ask my siblings, his siblings, his ex-wife, the barman at the Alibi, and every drunk guy in there too, our former boss at the Kash'n Grab back in the hood, Doctor Lishman, my ex-regulars and co-workers at the Fairy Tail, and at the White Swallow, some of my ROTC buddies, and even some Army buddies...”

 

“My dad too.” Mickey added. “He might threw in a few colorful words in and there about his faggot son, but he would correlate the story. I can give you his address in prison if you want.”

 

“I think um... that won't be um... necessary.”

 

***

 

“Why am I the one who proposed?”

 

“Because you kinda did.”

 

“Shut up, I didn't.”

 

Ian laughed and bit into his slice of pizza.

 

“You sure you don't want to eat anything?” he asked, his mouth full of food.

 

“No.” Mickey replied, lying his head against the back of the couch. “I don't feel so good.”

 

“I thought the weed had helped with the nausea.”

 

“Yeah, for only like a second. Is it hot in there?”

 

“Not so much.”

 

“Fuck, I feel like I'm burning up.”

 

Mickey suddenly stood up and started walking toward the bathroom.

 

“I'm gonna throw up...”

 

Ian nodded.

 

“Yeah, okay. Tell me if you need anything.”

 

He watched Mickey lock himself in the bathroom and looked back at his pizza. Yeah, not really in the mood anymore. Someone knocked lightly on the door, and Ian stood to open it. Debbie was there, with a thermos.

 

“Hey. What you're doing here Debs?”

 

“You told us Mickey was sick, so I made soup.”

 

Ian chuckled and let his sister in.

 

“Not really that kind of sick, but thanks.”

 

He took the thermos and went to put it in the kitchen when he heard a loud _'thud'_ coming from the bathroom. He exchanged a quick worried glance with Debbie before rushing to the bathroom.

 

“Mick? Mickey?”

 

The brunet was passed out on the floor.

 

“Fuck. Fuck.”

 

Ian touched his forehead. Mickey was sweaty and so warm it was scary. The redhead stood back up and turned to his sister.

 

“He has a high fever. What do I do?”

 

“I don't know.” Debbie shook her head. “You're the one with the medical training!”

 

“Fuck yes, I am.” Ian exhaled.

 

But he was panicking, he couldn't remember anything he had been taught.

 

“I don't... I don't know...”

 

“Ian. Ian.” Debbie took his hands in hers. “Breathe. You've been called for a 40-year-old woman passed out with a high fever in the kitchen of her apartment in North Side. What do you do?”

 

“Uh... Cold. Her body needs to be kept cool while we take her to the hospital, try to keep the temperature down. I need to check her vitals, and make sure she's stable and breathing regularly.”

 

“Okay.” Debbie smiled. “You do all that, I'm gonna call 911. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Debbie took her phone out and typed the numbers in. Ian tried to stay calm as he soaked a towel with cold water and put it on Mickey's forehead, before performing his usual check-up on him.

 

“You're gonna be okay Mick.” he whispered. “You're gonna be okay...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't kill Mickey. Pinky promise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter again, but a necessary bridge toward the rest of the story.

 

Ian had been watching the machines beeping in rhythm with Mickey's heart for too long now. He just wished the other man would wake up. His skin was too pale. His body was too thin. Ian reached to grab Mickey's hand in his and left a small kiss under his knuckles. He was sick, he was _really_ sick, and the fucking disease was winning.

 

The redhead didn't hear the door open, but he felt the gentle hand squeeze his shoulder. He raised his head to meet Mandy's soft smile.

 

“Been here long?” she asked.

 

“A few hours.”

 

“You've seen the doctor yet?”

 

“No, just some ER resident. Still waiting to know what's actually happening.”

 

Mandy squeezed Ian's shoulder one last time and took her hand off to go grab the chair on the other side of the room. She carried it next to the redhead's and sat.

 

“How did you know...?” he suddenly wondered, realizing he had forgotten to call her.

 

“Debbie called me.”

 

“Of course she did.” Ian smiled. “I'm sorry I...”

 

“It's okay.”

 

Ian hadn't release Mickey's hand. He ran his thumb above the skin as a new silence settled, and the beeping sound of the machines took all the space again.

 

“You think he's gonna be okay?” Mandy asked after a few minutes.

 

“Yeah.” Ian nodded. “He... He has to.”

 

He looked over at Mandy and her big blue eyes filling with tears. He put his other hand on her knee.

 

“Hey.” he simply said.

 

She laced their fingers together and managed a tiny smile. The doctor chose that very instant to appear in the room, breaking their moment. Ian released both hands and stood up, Mandy imitating him a second later.

 

“Mr Gallagher. And?”

 

“Mandy Milkovich. Mickey's sister.”

 

“Alright.” the doctor nodded, accepting Mandy's presence in the room. “It appears that Mr Milkovich's liver is failing, and...”

 

“You said he was okay.” Ian interrupted, talking louder than he expected himself to. “We came to see you yesterday and you said he was okay.”

 

“Yes, I did. There was nothing alarming about his symptoms. Minor set-backs happen all the time without altering the patient's recovery. Unfortunately it wasn't the case here, and I am sorry I didn't see it yesterday.”

 

“You should have done a full check-up, blood test and everything.”

 

“Mr Gallagher, as I said, it looked like a minor set-back. We cannot do these tests all the time, they are very expensive and especially draining for the patients.”

 

“But...”

 

“Ian.” Mandy said softly, putting her hand back on his shoulder.

 

The redhead looked at her and nodded slowly. He turned back to the doctor.

 

“Okay. What's happening now?”

 

“We need to change his medication, because interferons don't do well with liver failure, it would only make it worse. His liver has not suffer a lot of damages yet, so we just need to keep it closely monitored. Sometimes patients get better without treatment, and the liver heals itself entirely, it's still a possibility here, but cirrhosis is still also a high risk, in which case liver transplant will be required. We are not there yet, but we need to stay careful.”

 

Ian and Mandy, now tightly holding hands, both nodded in sync.

 

“I need to ask you one last question.” the doctor added. “Mr Milkovich never mentioned or reported a history of alcoholism, but his liver seems to have suffer some damages prior to his infection by the virus. Do you know anything about it?”

 

“Well I wouldn't call alcoholism.” Mandy started. “But he did used to drink a lot at times.”

 

“Do you know how old he was when he first started drinking alcohol?”

 

“I don't know... 10? 12 maybe?”

 

“That's very young.”

 

“Not really when you grow up in South Side surrounded by drunk and careless parents. Everybody does it.”

 

The doctor raised his eyebrows slightly and sighed as he took a few notes.

 

“Alright then. I will take that into account in the new dosage of medication.”

 

***

 

Mandy had been in this hospital room for two hours, and Ian was already there when she arrived. He just stayed on his chair, not eating, no sleeping, just waiting for Mickey to wake up.

 

“Hey.” she said, nudging the redhead with her foot. “Go get yourself a coffee or something.”

 

He shook his head.

 

“I don't want him to wake up alone.”

 

“I know, I'm staying with him.” she replied with a smile. “But you need to get out of here for a while. Go take a walk, drink coffee, eat a snack, anything. Okay?”

 

He nodded slowly and stood up.

 

“Okay.”

 

Ian closed the door behind himself, and Mandy checked her phone. 9pm. She had to work in an hour. She sighed and considered calling her boss. Her clients would be pissed if she canceled on them.

 

“Ian?”

 

She raised her eyes from her phone screen faster than she thought possible, and abandoned her chair quickly to rush next to her brother.

 

“Mick?”

 

He opened his eyes slowly and repeated the only word he was apparently able to get out.

 

“Ian?”

 

“It's Mandy. Ian is just getting coffee, he's coming back soon.”

 

Mickey blinked once and looked at her, trying something that seemed like a smile.

 

“You okay? How you feeling?”

 

“Like shit.”

 

His voice was low and dry, but the vocabulary was there. Mandy chuckled.

 

“Make sense.” she nodded. “Heard you passed out in the bathroom. You had a fever of 104 – 105 when you arrived at the hospital. Scared the shit out of us. You're lucky your husband is a great EMT though...”

 

Mickey hinted another smile.

 

“You want me to go see if I can find him?”

 

“No. He'll come back.”

 

“Okay.” Mandy conceded. “I'm still gonna go get a nurse though.”

 

***

 

After having drunk a disgusting hospital coffee, and paced for 5 minutes in the hallway of the serious burns unit, Ian came back to an empty room.

 

“Mandy?” he called.

 

“She's looking for a nurse.” Mickey's dry voice answered from the bed.

 

“Mick you're awake!” Ian exclaimed, rushing to his husband.

 

Without thinking about it, he kissed him quickly on the lips.

 

“I was so scared.”

 

“I'm okay.” Mickey replied, grabbing Ian's neck and bringing their foreheads together. “I'm okay.”

 

“I found a nuuurse...” Mandy proudly announced, her words dripping at the end seeing the two men in this position. “Or I might leave you to it for a second.”

 

Ian chuckled and detached himself from Mickey, dropping a small kiss on his forehead in the process.

 

“That's okay.” he told the nurse. “You can make sure he's really fine.”

 

***

 

“Alright then, we're switching to NRTIs.” the doctor announced like a TV presenter. “Nucleoside Reverse Transcriptase Inhibitors.” he explained, seeing Mickey's face. “It's a pill you have to take daily for a year _minimum_ , but patients usually take it for about five years. It's a very long treatment, less violent, and it's mainly why I usually recommend interferons first. Unfortunately, in your case, interferons are not longer possible.”

 

“Aren't NRTIs also used for HIV?” Ian suddenly asked.

 

“Yes.” the doctor nodded. “Are you familiar with the treatment?”

 

Ian shrugged vaguely.

 

“Just a... an old boyfriend.” he answered, avoiding Mickey's eyes.

 

The doctor gave him a weird look.

 

“Don't worry, I'm okay.” Ian added quickly. “We were always very careful. And I've been tested, I'm fine.”

 

“That's good.” the doctor smiled tightly. “I don't know if I told you that already but patients with hepatitis are more likely to get infected by HIV, and vice versa. So please be careful.”

 

“Of course.” the redhead responded, nodding vigorously, and Mickey rolled his eyes at the lack of chill of this dork.

 

“Okay.” the doctor continued. “Now, all medicine have side effects. You might not feel them, but common side effects include headaches, tiredness, sore throat, diarrhea, light fever, muscle pain, and dizziness. Nothing new, really. And even though you can take this treatment on your own, we will keep our weekly appointments for now, just as a precaution. If I feel like you're doing better, we might consider switching to once every two weeks, or even once a month. Are you okay with all that?”

 

“I don't really have a choice, do I?” Mickey sighed.

 

“You could choose not to follow your treatment, but I have to warn you right away that if you do that, your life expectancy is not going to be very high, a few years at best.”

 

“And if I do follow the treatment, how's my life expectancy?”

 

“Oh, you can beat the virus in one to five years, and live a full healthy life after that.” the doctor genuinely smiled this time. “I'm not worried about you Mickey, you're a very resilient patient with a strong enough immune system to fight this thing easily.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things before we start:
> 
> First, I want to dedicate this chapter to [YuMari](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YuMari), without whom my Russian would be crap. Thank you so much for your help you awesome teacher :)
> 
> Also, this fic is canon up to the end of season 6, and I try to follow some of the spoilers for season 7, but in this universe Ian did not “try out heterosexuality”. There's a limit, people.
> 
> Third, I watched a couple of episodes of Shameless UK yesterday and 1. UK Mickey is a cute cinnamon roll I want to protect at all costs. 2. UK Ian is a fucking asshole.
> 
> Finally, a little **warning** : what happened in 3x666 is mentioned briefly in this chapter.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Mickey nodded, detaching his eyes from the TV screen to look at Ian.

 

“Yeah sure.”

 

After he came back from the hospital about a week ago, Mickey quickly went back to his old habits of sharing his time between his bed and the couch, swallowing more TV than ever in his life. And Ian was happy to spend most of his time off-work in his company, but they weren't talking enough for his liking.

 

“About what you said, you know our marriage being... just a piece of paper...” he started, not sure he should look at Mickey while saying that, afraid to see the icy blue opals that already hurt him once. “Did you really mean it? Do you see it as the same thing you had with Svetlana?”

 

Mickey turned back to the TV and waited for an entire commercial to pass by.

 

“I was forced to marry her.” he finally said, in a slow and low voice. “I didn't have a choice, if I wanted to live, and if I wanted you to live, I needed to marry her.”

 

Ian nodded silently and waited for the rest of Mickey's answer to come. The brunet looked back at him.

 

“I wasn't forced to marry you.” he confessed. “I could have... I don't know sell more drugs, re-start the moving truck scam, anything. I would have found a way to make money. Or maybe I would have chosen not to take the treatment. But I chose to marry you.”

 

With that, Mickey went back to the TV, and Ian smiled. It was enough for now.

 

***

 

Ian entered the Gallagher house just as Lip was climbing down the stairs. The older Gallagher rubbed his eyes and looked at his brother.

 

“Are you just coming back from Mickey's?”

 

“No, I slept here last night. I just went on a run.”

 

“It's 6.30 man.”

 

“I know, best time to run.”

 

Lip went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He looked at his brother again, this time with more concern in his eyes.

 

“You feeling okay?”

 

“Yeah. Just a lot of pent up energy, you know. I'm spending _a lot_ of time with Mickey, and I'm _not_ having sex, so I need to get my energy out some other way.”

 

Lip yawned.

 

“Can't you just take long showers like everybody else?”

 

“Not enough.”

 

Lip's eyes widened slightly and he shook his head.

 

“Jesus...”

 

***

 

“You again?” Mickey called as he heard the front door open, not even bothering to watch who had came in.

 

“What? You don't want me here?” Ian asked.

 

Mickey just shrugged. He didn't mind the company.

 

“Where's Iggy anyway?” the redhead wondered as if he had read his mind.

 

“Who the fuck knows?”

 

Ian smiled and followed as Mickey sat on the couch.

 

“I kinda got a favor to ask you...”

 

Mickey raised his eyebrows. He had a feeling he wouldn't especially like this favor.

 

“There's this... thing next week-end, and well... I'd like you to come with me.”

 

“A thing?”

 

“A gala.”

 

Mickey's eyebrows shot higher.

 

“The annual Chicago firefighter/paramedic's ball. I kinda have to go, and I have a +1 invitation for my husband...”

 

“No.” Mickey sneered.

 

“Come on Mick, please.” Ian pleaded, his giant puppy eyes focused on making Mickey cave.

 

No way the black-haired man was going to a gala, or a ball, or whatever the fuck that was, Ian could go alone to his firefighter/paramedic thing. _Wait..._

 

“Did you say firefighter?”

 

“Yeah...” Ian answered with a smile both apologetic and showing victory.

 

“Do I need to wear a fucking tie?”

 

“It'd be better, but you don't _have to_.”

 

Mickey sighed. Sometimes he hated Ian fucking Gallagher with all his guts.

 

“Okay, come on let's go.” the redhead added as he stood up.

 

“Let's go where?”

 

“I'm taking you out.”

 

“Nope. You already convince me to go to a fucking gala, I won't go out anywhere with you today.”

 

“You don't have a choice. You need to get out of your fucking house once in a while, and I worked very hard on this, so you're gonna put on some pants and come with me.”

 

Mickey raised his eyebrows again. This man was exhausting.

 

“You're not making me run, or exercise or some shit.”

 

“I promise you won't have to make any physical effort beyond getting up of this couch and out of your house.”

 

Mickey looked at Ian for a beat, and Ian looked back at him. The redhead seemed awfully confident that Mickey would cave again. Well, he was right, but it wasn't a reason to make it easy on him.

 

“No running. No dancing. No fucking club.”

 

“It's 2 in the afternoon, what kind of club are you going to?”

 

“No club. No theater. No fucking shopping.”

 

“Do you even know me at all? When was the last time you saw me going to the theater?”

 

Mickey had no response to that. Okay, maybe it was unfounded, but still, Ian could have some weird ideas sometimes...

 

***

 

“The Alibi?” Mickey exclaimed as they approached the bar. “You are aware that I can't drink and you can barely hold a beer, right?”

 

Ian didn't answer and just pushed the door open. Even if it was 2 in the afternoon, there was already a crowd of useless drunks sipping their daily amount of alcohol. It felt oddly familiar and comforting to Mickey to be back here. He wished Kev was behind the counter though, instead of Svetlana and her tight shirt showing too much of her boobs.

 

“Hello Orange Boy. Ex-husband.” she smiled, looking genuinely happy to see them.

 

“Hi Svet.” Ian smiled back. “Is he ready?”

 

“Yes.” the woman said. “Let me get diaper bag.”

 

Ian nodded as she exited out back, and Mickey looked at him walked toward the kid park placed near a booth and in which three toddlers were playing. Things finally registered in his mind as Ian said hi to Kev and V's girls and picked up Yevgeny. Mickey was not in the mood to play babysitter all afternoon, but he also wasn't sure he had a choice...

 

“Seriously?” he sighed, taking a step closer to Ian.

 

“Yep.” the redhead smiled. “It took me a _long_ time to convince Svetlana, but I need to prove to the world that I'm not a baby thief, and you need to prove to yourself that you can be a good father. So we're gonna spend the afternoon with this adorable little boy and enjoy it.”

 

Mickey shook his head. _Fucking family._

 

***

 

The kid was too fucking chipper for Mickey's mood. He kept running around the park, wanting to try the slide, and the swings, and the fucking roundabout. Not only all these games were too fucking dangerous for a two-year-old, but there were also very boring for a grown-ass man – except if your name was Ian fucking Gallagher, the redhead was looking even more happy than the kid.

 

He had just sat down next to Mickey on the bench when Yevgeny came rushing back toward them.

 

“Я хоцю куфать”

 

“I don't know what you saying kid.” the black-haired man sighed, but Ian just nodded his head like he had understood everything.

 

“куфать?”

 

Mickey turned to him with wide eyes.

 

“I remember a few things Svetlana taught me.” the redhead smiled shyly. “And, well... I might have been practicing a little bit.”

 

“So what does he want?”

 

“Food I think.” Ian answered, looking back at the little boy. “You want to eat, right?”

 

Yevgeny nodded eagerly.

 

“See?”

 

The redhead smiled brighter and took a jar of applesauce and a pack of cookies out of the bag Svetlana had given them. He helped Yevgeny sit down comfortably on the bench between them and gave him the food. Mickey stood up.

 

“I'm gonna go.”

 

“Mickey, come on!”

 

The brunet walked a few steps away from the bench before Ian caught up with him.

 

“You clearly don't need me here! I'm not healthy enough to run after him all around the fucking park, I don't understand what he's saying, you'd be way better off without me!”

 

“Except I'm not his fucking father!”

 

“Oh yeah right, like I'm gonna believe that! You've always been more interested in taking care of him that I was. I've never wanted this fucking kid, but it looks like you did!”

 

“You think I wanted him? You think I wanted to watch your father beat the shit out of you because of me? You think I wanted to watch him call Svetlana and...? You think I wanted all that? He's just a fucking kid, Mickey, he never asked to be here! And he looks so much like you... I just want him to have a nice childhood, far away from all the crap our own parents put us through! And if you don't want to do this, fine! I won't force you. I just want you to see that you're a hundred times better man that your father ever was, and that you are capable of giving this child a good start in life.”

 

Ian took a deep breath, swallowing back the tears that breached at the edge of his eyes, and returned to sit on the bench. Mickey stayed away, looking at them both interacting, talking, laughing, sharing a light snack. Once upon a time, he could only imagine a gray future for himself, in which he would marry some random girl, give her a couple kids, and drown his closeted life in alcohol. Then, this little family imposed itself to him, Ian, Yevgeny, Svetlana, and they were happy for some time. Mickey was happy. Until it all crashed down. He wasn't sure he deserved happiness anyway, so maybe it was best. But now, now happiness was creeping up on him again. Sneaky little bitch. And Ian was there, sharing a cookie with Yevgeny – the little boy with Mickey's eyes – and Mickey wanted nothing more than to join them.

 

Ian looked up at Mickey watching them and smiled. Then Yevgeny pointed at something on the other side of the park, and the redhead directed his eyes toward it. Mickey took advantage of this moment of inattention to go sit back on the bench. He remained silent for the other half hour they stayed in the park, but at least he was present.

 

“Я босе не хоцю иглать. Я хоцю пать.” Yevgeny said after another round on the slide, and Mickey rolled his eyes, _could this kid not speak English? Fucking Svetlana..._

 

“I think he's tired.” Ian explained. “Спать?”

 

The boy just yawned.

 

“Okay, let's go then.” Mickey said, standing up once again. “Let's bringing him back to his mom.”

 

They had only walked ten feet, almost dragging the two-year-old behind, that he started to cry. Ian didn't hesitate before picking him up, managing a hard balance between the huge diaper bag on one shoulder, and the kid on the other side. The bag had to almost fell off three times before Mickey decided to help.

 

“Here. Give me the kid.”

 

“You sure? He's quite heavy. You can take the bag instead.”

 

“Give me the kid.”

 

“Okay.” Ian smiled.

 

The boy was fucking heavy alright, especially with how little strength Mickey had left in his body, but when Yevgeny started snoring lightly on his shoulder, Mickey knew he could do it. It was weirdly... nice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chicago firefighter/paramedic's ball is something I randomly came across and I thought: what a great idea! So yeah, I used it. :)  
> And who knows, we might see some familiar firefighter faces in the next chapter... ;D


	11. Chapter 11

 

Mickey covered each of his knuckles with a bandage. Even though his PO had basically forced him to, he had never been able to get rid of his “FUCK U-UP” tattoo. Maybe it was stupid, or just superstitious, but he felt like the words were protecting him and keeping his spirit alive. When he looked down at them, he was no longer the poor, sick guy who had one chance in five to never see his thirties and who needed to take meds everyday for _at least_ five fucking years, hoping that the virus will finally leave him the fuck alone. When he looked down at his tattooed knuckles, he was the South Side thug scared of nothing and no one, the guy who knew how to make himself respected and who wasn't afraid to fight for his life. Maybe it was stupid, or just superstitious, but some days he needed the courage of the ink.

 

Not today though. Today he needed to cover it so that his probation skank wouldn't throw a fit if she saw that the tattoos were still here. Mickey hadn't seen her in a while, but she had called him the previous day and apparently it was time for a new meeting. _Yay._

 

Mickey finished to button his shirt, and grabbed his phone vibrating with upcoming messages.

 

_[From Ian] Got my suit. Do you have yours?_

 

_[From Ian] Pick you up at 6 tonight?_

 

Mickey typed a quick “Sure” answer and locked his phone, sighing loudly. Time to go meet the fascinating woman he had as a PO and talk about his future and shit.

 

***

 

_Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven._

 

“What are you doing?” Carl wondered, sitting on the couch next to Lip who was looking at their other brother do push-ups in the living room.

 

“Mister Push-ups here is loosing his mind over not sleeping with his husband.”

 

“Thank god I'm already crazy then, huh?” Ian replied sarcastically as he reached fifty and stood up.

 

“Come on, you know I didn't mean it like that.” Lip sighed, and Ian just shook his head.

 

“So Mickey's not putting out, huh?” Carl asked, coming back to the previous subject.

 

“It's not like that.” Ian tried to explain. “We're just... not there yet.”

 

“You are aware you guys are married, right?”

 

“Shut up, Lip.”

 

“So why don't you go find yourself some random twink then?”

 

“I'm not cheating on Mickey.”

 

“It's not really cheating if you're not together.”

 

“You don't understand.”

 

“No, I really don't.”

 

Ian sighed loudly. His brother was such an idiot.

 

“I have to go with Lip on that one.” Carl chipped in. “I don't get it either. You're married but you're not together. You told us it was just for the insurance, but it's obvious you're so in love with him. And you act like a couple, but you don't have sex. So what's your deal exactly?”

 

Ian thought about it for a second. What was their deal indeed?

 

“We try to build something.” he started to explain, before coming back on his words. “Or at least I do. I try to win his trust back so we can be together again.”

 

“And sex is compromising with all that somehow?”

 

“Yes, because that's not what's broken. Sex was all we used to have at some point. We know how to fuck, that's really not a problem. The problem is... all the other stuff.”

 

Lip rolled his eyes and stood up from the couch.

 

“In other words: Mickey's not putting out.” the older Gallagher brother roughly summed up. “You can save all the other crap for your couple therapist.”

 

***

 

Mickey in a tux. That was not a sight Ian witnessed often enough, but damn oh sexy. The redhead tried not to let his mouth hang too wide open as he entered the Milkovich house to see Mickey pacing in the main room, pulling at the sleeves of his rented black jacket.

 

“Looking good.” Ian teased, making Mickey aware of his presence.

 

The black-haired man raised his head, and Ian did not miss the way he absolutely checked him out for longer than socially appropriate.

 

“Thanks.” Mickey muttered, looking back down at his sleeves.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

“Yeah. Let's get this shit over with.”

 

***

 

“Stop doing that.” Ian smiled, gently slapping Mickey's hand as the brunet kept playing with the loose fabric of his clothes.

 

The gala had been going on for about an hour, they had met all of Ian's coworkers, and Mickey was still nervous as hell. Of course he didn't need to say it as Ian knew all of his tics.

 

“You think I can get vodka at the bar?” Mickey sighed after Rita left them to go talk with somebody else.

 

“You probably can.” Ian answered. “But no. I won't let you.”

 

“You're no fun.”

 

“Because I don't want you to die of liver failure?”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, and Ian smiled again.

 

“Hey Ian!” the redhead heard a very familiar voice call from behind him.

 

He shot a quick apologetic grimace to Mickey before turning around to greet the newcomer.

 

“Hey Caleb.”

 

Mickey's head snapped at the name and he also turned around, sizing up what he apparently considered as competition.

 

“How's Denise?” Ian wondered, smirking.

 

Caleb emitted a weird sound from the back of his throat, like a snort, and Ian enjoyed the effect the mention of Denise had on his ex-boyfriend.

 

“Rumor says you got married.” Caleb asked, changing the subject. “Is it true?”

 

“Yes.” Ian smiled, placing a hand on the small of Mickey's back. “It's true. This is my husband Mickey.”

 

“Mickey? Like ex-boyfriend who's in jail Mickey?”

 

“Yes, exactly like that.” Mickey answered, raising his eyebrows very high.

 

“Oh well, congratulations.” Caleb smiled. “It was nice to see you again Ian.”

 

“Yeah, you too.” the redhead answered, watching the other man walked away.

 

“Is it just me or he has a very punchable face?” Mickey let out when they were alone again.

 

“You can't punch him Mick.” Ian sighed.

 

“Why?” Mickey asked louder. “You worry about what all those fancy-ass people are gonna think when they realize you married some South Side trash?”

 

Ian looked at Mickey for a beat. He knew his husband was nervous, but he had thought it was because he had to meet all these people and socialize, he hadn't realize Mickey felt so self-conscious about his background.

 

“No.” he answered simply. “You can't punch him because you can't risk drawing blood from either you, or him.”

 

“So what?” Mickey replied. “I'll give him my fucking disease and let him deal with it. I'm cool with that.”

 

“Yeah, except he will probably also give you _his_ fucking disease, and you'll both end up in very deep shit.”

 

Mickey didn't answer anything, he just kept glaring at Caleb talking to a few people a dozen feet away, and from the way the brunet was biting his lip, Ian could almost see his brain working. So the redhead captured his husband's face between his hands and gently forced him to look at him.

 

“I don't care about him Mickey. I'm with you. Okay?”

 

Mickey stayed tense for a few more seconds, before Ian felt him relax under his touch. So the redhead release his face.

 

“I think I've done my duty for the night.” he said. “We can leave now.”

 

Mickey nodded silently. Ian took a few more minutes to say his goodbyes to his favorite colleagues, and they exited the ball room, waiting for the Uber the redhead had called under Mickey's rolling eyes – Ian argued that they were dressed too fancy to take the L.

 

“Thanks for coming tonight.” he said as the car drove away from the North Side.

 

Mickey didn't say anything, and the redhead just looked at him take his wallet out of his pocket and a small black packet out of it. He then watched Mickey drop to his knees between Ian's legs, and the driver sneak a peek through his rearview mirror before shaking his head and looking back at the road.

 

“What are you doing?” Ian whispered.

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Mickey simply answered, unbuttoning Ian's pants and taking his penis out.

 

 _Okay._ Ian breathed deeply. _That was happening._ It only took a couple of pumps from Mickey's hand to get his dick hard and demanding, and the black-haired man teared the packet open to roll the non-lubricated condom over it. He then lowered his head and licked at the tip, earning a loud strangled gasp from Ian. The redhead ran his hand over Mickey's hair, and curled his fingers there, half holding his lower neck. Mickey licked a couple of more times, before bobbing his head to swallow as much as he could in one go, wrapping his hand around the base of Ian's dick to cover the portion he couldn't fit in his mouth. He sucked at a steady pace, Ian's grip on his hair getting tighter, and Mickey keeping him from pushing too far with his other hand solidly set across his hip. Ian moaned, and groaned, trying his best not to thrust up into the heat of Mickey's mouth. The redhead threw his head against the back of his seat as Mickey set a faster pace. He was sucking Ian's dick like his life depended on it, and it felt so good, Ian knew he wasn't going to last. He tugged on Mickey's hair sharply, and the black-haired man hummed, sending Ian over the edge. He kept Mickey's head right there between his legs as he came hard into the condom. Mickey kept sucking him through his orgasm, before pulling off, taking the condom off and tying it in a tight knot. He zipped Ian's pants back up and sat on his laps, kissing the top of his jawline.

 

“I'm with you too.” he murmured in the redhead's ear.

 

***

 

The door of the Milkovich house slammed shut as Ian pushed Mickey against it, grinding their pelvises together. He kissed Mickey all over his face and his neck, trying not to bite, and hating that they couldn't share a real kiss with lips, and tongues, and everything. Mickey moaned and Ian gripped his hips, walking them more into the house, but not making it to the bedroom. He turned Mickey around and pinned him against the nearest wall, pushing his cock, already hard again, against his husband's ass. There was four layers of fabric between them but it still felt extremely good as Mickey pushed back. Ian unbuttoned Mickey's pants, before sliding his hand inside and wrapping it around his hard penis. Mickey's head fell back against Ian's shoulder, and the redhead took advantage of the position to kiss the open skin of his neck. The black-haired man grunted louder and reached around to grip at Ian's hair. A door opened, making them both jump in surprise, and Iggy appeared in the hallway. The two men froze, Ian with one hand in Mickey's pants, and Mickey giving himself completely to the redhead.

 

“Oh. I thought it was you.” Iggy shrugged, before going back into his bedroom.

 

Ian chuckled, and buried his face in Mickey's neck.

 

“We should probably go to your room.”

 

Mickey nodded.

 

“Yeah.”

 

***

 

Raising his upper body on his elbows and propping his head on his fists, Ian looked at a naked Mickey sitting against the headboard. They had finished about five minutes ago and he hadn't asked him to leave yet, so maybe they were good this time.

 

“What are we?” the redhead wondered, keeping his green eyes locked with the blue ones.

 

“What do you mean?” Mickey asked in reply.

 

“Are we together?”

 

Mickey smiled and caressed Ian's hair and cheek gently.

 

“We're married.”

 

Ian laughed.

 

“You're really a smartass, aren't you?”

 

“Shut up, you love it.” Mickey smirked.

 

Ian lifted himself up and climbed on Mickey's laps.

 

“I really do.” he said, before leaving a soft kiss on his cheek.

 

Mickey brushed a couple of fingers on Ian's skin, and ran a thumb over his bottom lip. He glazed into these beautiful green opals for a beat, before bringing their lips together for a quick peck – wishing he could do more, but knowing it wasn't safe.

 

“We're married.” the black-haired man whispered, sounding more definitive this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian never explicitly mentioned Mickey to Caleb in canon, he never said his name or that he was in jail, but here I considered that he did at some point because it didn't seem too far fetch for me and it worked better in my story.
> 
> Also, I love to make Iggy appear and disappear randomly in the story, much like he does in the show actually. ^_^


	12. Chapter 12

 

Mickey looked at the beautiful man snoring lightly next to him and ran a finger on the soft skin of his arm. Sometimes it still felt unreal to Mickey that Ian was here with him, in his bed, that they were married. There was always a part of him afraid that Ian would leave again. At the beginning, when their relationship wasn't really a relationship yet, Mickey wanted the redhead to leave, because he knew he wasn't good enough for him, and that what they had would die eventually, so he wished every night that Ian would push him away the next day. He never did, and Mickey started to rely on him, on his presence being always a part of his life. Until he actually left. From then on, Ian leaving and never coming back became a real fear for Mickey, a fear that came true way too often, a fear that was always present, even when Ian was in Mickey's bed.

 

The black-haired man stood up from his bed and went to open the last drawer of his dresser. He lifted an old woolen sweater and took the picture hidden underneath. He sat against the foot of the bed and looked at the old crumpled photo for some time.

 

“What's this?” Ian's voice asked from behind him.

 

Mickey stared at the object for a few more seconds before handing it to his husband. Ian looked at himself in his beanie raising a finger to the camera.

 

“I didn't know you had this.” he told Mickey.

 

“Stole it from Mandy when you left for the army.” the black-haired man explained, earning a small smile from Ian.

 

“What did you do with it?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nothing?”

 

Mickey heard the question behind Ian's raised eyebrows and smiled.

 

“I tried to jerk off to it a few times.” he confessed. “Didn't really work. I mostly ended up punching it. I punched it often, when I was mad at myself. Or when I was mad at you.”

 

Ian lowered his eyes back to the picture.

 

“I'm sorry.” _For all the times I handled things badly in our relationship._

 

“Me too.” _Because you're not the only one who fucked up._

 

***

 

Ian could see his little sister's eyes following him as he walked down the personal hygiene aisle and put several boxes of condoms in his basket – including a few flavored ones.

 

“What?”

 

Debbie looked at him with a devilish grin.

 

“I didn't say anything.”

 

Ian grabbed a giant bottle of lube, and one last box of condoms.

 

“My husband is very contagious.” he said as an explanation.

 

“And you plan on having a lot of sex with him.” Debbie completed.

 

“Hell yes.”

 

She smiled again.

 

“So things are going great between you two, huh?”

 

“I guess...”

 

“I thought it was just a fake marriage.”

 

Ian rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I don't know who I was kidding.”

 

Debbie chuckled and the both of them headed toward the check-out. Debbie went first, paying for a bunch of diapers, formula, and all kind of expensive baby stuff. Ian tried to avoid the cashier's eyes as the fifty-something woman scanned his articles, and turned distractedly his head toward the grocery bagger. He froze as he recognized his husband in the jacket with the store logo on it.

 

“What are you doing here?” the redhead asked, as Mickey raised both his eyebrows seeing the articles Ian was buying.

 

“Working.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“A week.” Mickey shrugged.

 

The cashier announced the amount of Ian's purchases and the redhead handed her a few bills before turning back to Mickey to grab his plastic bag.

 

“Have fun.” the brunet smirked.

 

“Don't worry, I won't be alone.” Ian replied with a wink.

 

He left the store and joined Debbie on the parking lot.

 

“You didn't know Mickey was working here?” she asked, surprised, as they started making their way toward the L.

 

“You did?” Ian replied, even more surprised.

 

“Yeah.” Debbie shrugged. “I ran into him a couple of days ago and he was wearing the jacket, so I asked.”

 

***

 

“You've been working for a week, huh?”

 

“You really want to talk about this right now?”

 

Ian scissored his fingers, making Mickey gasp.

 

“Yep.” he smirked.

 

“Fuck.” Mickey grunted. “My PO found the job for me, and I'm only packing bags for now because they don't trust me with money yet. What else do you need to know?”

 

The redhead kissed the inside of Mickey's thigh, and added a third finger in his ass.

 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

 

The black-haired breathed deeply.

 

“I don't... I don't know... It's... kinda embarrassing... Holy fuck, right there.”

 

He moaned loudly, and Ian stopped his movements.

 

“Mickey, you have a real job, a safe one in which you don't risk to loose a limb, or get shot, or anything. There's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey sighed, wriggling his ass. “Keep going.”

 

Ian smiled and took his fingers out, quickly replacing them by his penis covered by a recently bought condom. He bottomed out and paused, Mickey's legs around his waist maintaining him closely laid on top of him. Ian kissed the tip of his husband's nose, and raised his head slightly to be able to look at Mickey in the eyes.

 

“I'm proud of you.”

 

The black-haired man maintained eye contact for about five seconds before he hid his face in Ian's shoulder and squeezed his ass.

 

“Come on.”

 

The redhead went slow after that initial thrust, pushing into Mickey deeply but at a leisurely steady pace, enjoying the feeling of being connected to his husband that way. Mickey was breathing slowly against the skin of his shoulder, keeping his arms and legs tightly wrapped around Ian, not letting any space between their bodies.

 

“You're like an octopus.” Ian joked at some point.

 

Mickey didn't answer anything, he just moaned on a particularly hard thrust, digging his short nails into Ian's shoulder blades, just at the edge of breaking the skin there but never going all the way. Ian sped up, thrusting harder and faster against Mickey's sweet spot, his stomach gliding against Mickey's leaking penis. And Mickey started to push back as much as he could from their position, trying to take Ian in as hard and as deep as he could. Stuttered breaths and quiet moans filled the silence of the room, accompanied by the dirty sound of skin slapping against skin. Ian slightly lifted his chest away from Mickey's to be able to slide a hand down his ribs and wrap it around Mickey's cock.

 

“Fuuuck...” Mickey groaned, throwing his head back on his pillow.

 

Ian tried his best to stroke him in sync with his thrusts, keeping that pounding pressure on Mickey's prostate, feeling the muscles of Mickey's ass clenching around his own dick.

 

“Look at me.” he ordered with a dry and weak voice, and Mickey opened his eyes. “I love you.”

 

Mickey grabbed Ian's neck and crashed their lips together, keeping them safely close. The redhead felt him spill all over his hand and kept pulling on his cock, making sure he was completely spent before releasing him. Their mouths broke away, and Ian buried his head into Mickey's neck, coming hard into the condom.

 

“I love you too.” Mickey murmured in his ear.

 

***

 

Mickey's phone rang, breaking the comfortable silence they had established. The brunet turned the alarm off and took one last drag of his joint before handing it to Ian. The redhead shook his head to refuse the offer, and Mickey just shrugged, crushing what was left of it in the ashtray on his bedside table. He stood up from the bed and grabbed a pair of boxers from the floor, not knowing whom they belonged to but not caring either. He only put them on because he didn't know if Iggy was still in the house but didn't want to risk meeting him in the hallway butt naked. He went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet to take the two plastic boxes waiting for him. He walked back into the bedroom and threw the blue box at Ian, keeping the green one for himself. He swallowed his daily medication with a gulp of Gatorade and watched the redhead do the same. Mickey took the boxes back and put them away in the medicine cabinet.

 

“You're almost out.” he told Ian as he came back in the bedroom. “You have more at home?”

 

The redhead nodded silently, and Mickey grabbed his phone on the bedside table.

 

“Gonna order take-out, okay?”

 

Ian nodded again, and Mickey walked into the kitchen to look for the last menus they had kept. He came back into the bedroom after having ordered some Chinese food, and found Ian still laying naked on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Mickey sat next to him. He didn't like what he was seeing, it felt too familiar. Bad familiar.

 

“You okay?” he asked carefully.

 

Ian stayed silent for a few more seconds, before he started to talk, his eyes still focused on the ceiling.

 

“I don't know if I've been manic lately without realizing it, or if it's just all the energy I've spent for you these past few months, but I feel like I'm crashing down.” he confessed, and Mickey's chest tightened. “And I know I won't be able to get out of bed in the morning.”

 

Mickey let the last sentence hang in the air for some time. He brushed a stray of hair from Ian's forehead with a finger, and breathed slowly.

 

“Is there something I can do?” he asked, his voice not raising above a whisper.

 

Ian's lips stretched into a small smile and he finally looked at Mickey.

 

“You can take me to the clinic tomorrow.” he answered lowly.

 

“Okay.” Mickey nodded. “I'll do that.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and cozy chapter, all curled up under the blankets like I am today.
> 
> Also the clinic Mickey is taking Ian to in this chapter is actually a Mental Health Facility (not to be confused with a free clinic) called the Englewood Clinic, in South Side Chicago, which, from the outside, looks very much like the one they stand in front of in this deleted scene from 5x09, and that's why I chose it. Just thought you should know, I don't know if it's really helpful, but whatever.

 

Mickey didn't sleep at all that night. He sat in bed for hours, watching Ian sleep next to him. He didn't understand how the redhead could sleep, he didn't understand why they didn't go to the clinic right away, he didn't understand why they had to wait until morning. He didn't understand... He didn't understand how that could happen... They were just starting to be happy again, and, of course, shit had to hit the fan, because that what happened with them, shit always hit the fan every time things started to be good. Mickey was certain of it now: he wasn't supposed to be happy. The universe was screaming it out loud to him. The universe was a mean old bitch.

 

Mickey waited patiently for the sun to rise high enough in the sky before he got dressed and gently woke Ian up. He kneeled near the bed on the redhead's side and shook him lightly. Ian slowly came to, blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the morning light.

 

“How you feeling?” Mickey asked, his voice low and soft.

 

Ian didn't say anything, he just shook his head.

 

“You still want me to take you to the clinic?” Mickey asked again.

 

Ian waited for a beat, his eyes opened but unfocused, and he nodded slowly. Mickey released a breath, he had been half hoping Ian would wake up chipper and ready to jump out of bed to start the day.

 

“Okay.” he sighed instead, rubbing Ian's shoulder through the covers. “Come on, I'm gonna help you get dressed.”

 

It took a few more minutes to convince the redhead to get up, and even more time to help him put some clothes on – Mickey even considered the idea of taking him out wrapped in the bed sheet, but he didn't want to be one of _those people_ at the clinic.

 

“I don't want to.” Ian started to shook his head as Mickey helped him put his jacket on. “Let me go back to bed.”

 

“No.” Mickey replied. “We've done too much work to back down now. Come on, let's go.”

 

Ian let himself being dragged to the nearest L station, and sat next to Mickey on the train, resting his head against the piece of glass separating him from the door. Mickey scrolled through his phone, his finger stopping above Fiona's phone number in his contacts. A year ago, calling her would have been one of the first things on his mind, but right now he didn't feel like being surrounded by the entire Gallagher clan panicking and telling him what to do. So he didn't push the little green button, and he put his phone back in his pocket. He would call Fiona later, his priority was to bring Ian to a doctor who could possibility put him on a new meds combination. The other stuff could wait.

 

***

 

The woman at the front desk looked bored and already ready to go home, and it was barely nine in the morning. Mickey walked up to her, and waited until she lost the game she was playing on her phone and gave him some attention.

 

“Yeah?” she greeted him, chewing her gum obnoxiously.

 

“My husband.” Mickey started, nodding his head toward the seat he had left Ian in. “He's bipolar, and I think his meds stopped working or something.”

 

“Does he have a doctor of reference?” the woman asked. “A psychiatrist he sees regularly?”

 

“I don't think so.”

 

“You don't know?”

 

She raised her eyebrows in a judgmental stare Mickey wanted to smack off of her face.

 

“Look lady,” he snapped. “If I knew he had a regular doctor, I wouldn't be here, would I?”

 

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and took one of her forms out.

 

“And you say you are his...”

 

“Husband, yes.”

 

“Alright. Fill these forms please and someone will see you as soon as possible.”

 

She handed Mickey the clipboard with the document to fill and went back to the game on her phone. _Useless bitch._

 

***

 

Mickey did not left Ian's side for the entire day. The doctor at the clinic had prescribed him a new combination of meds, but it didn't keep the redhead from feeling numb and going back to bed as soon as they came back to the Milkovich house. Left alone, Mickey made himself a sandwich – his own new medication had the advantage of not killing his appetite anymore – and took Ian's phone to call the redhead's work and let them know he needed a couple of sick days. He then called his own work and took the same amount of sick days for himself – his PO had apparently warn them that might happen, so they didn't ask any question and agreed to it immediately, and Mickey kept himself from saying it wasn't actually him who was sick.

 

It wasn't until it was already dark outside that Mickey finally decided to let the Gallaghers know that Ian wasn't feeling great, and because he didn't especially want to hear Fiona's telling him he should have called sooner, he simply sent her a quick text summarizing the day – and he didn't forget to insist on the fact that Ian already went to see a doctor and had taken his new meds. Mickey didn't wait for an answer before he turned his phone off and got ready for bed.

 

Ian was still sleeping, curled up under the blanket on his side of the bed. He had barely moved from all the numerous times Mickey had gone to check on him during the day, and the brunet didn't know if he was supposed to sleep in the same bed. He climbed above the sheets and caressed Ian's hair softly. The redhead reacted to the touch by turning around to face Mickey.

 

“Hey.” he mumbled in a dry voice.

 

“Hi.” Mickey answered with a smile. “Feeling better?”

 

Ian shrugged as well as he could from his laying position.

 

“Do you want me to let you sleep alone tonight?”

 

Ian looked at Mickey – really looked at him – for the first time that day.

 

“You can stay.” he whispered, before closing his eyes again.

 

Mickey nodded and laid on his back, keeping a safe distance with Ian as to not invade his space too much. His eyelids were already heavy. He hadn't realized how tired he was. He hadn't sleep at all the night before, and the past forty-eight hours had been more exhausting than expected. He drifted into sleep faster than he thought he had anticipated.

 

***

 

The following day went just as slowly, Ian staying in bed and partially sleeping. He took the meds Mickey gave him, and accepted to eat a little. He got up once to go to the bathroom but went back to bury himself under the covers immediately after. And Mickey waited for time to pass by in front of his TV. He answered Fiona's and Debbie's few texts, and made himself another sandwich for lunch.

 

The only disturbance in Mickey's day was somebody knocking on the door around 4pm. He stood up from his couch reluctantly and went to open the door. Lip was on the porch with his smug punchable face.

 

“Mickey.” the Gallagher smiled tightly.

 

“Philip.” Mickey replied in the same way.

 

“So you're not dead yet, huh?”

 

“And you're not drunk yet.”

 

Lip's smirk dropped as Mickey's grin widened.

 

“I came to see Ian.”

 

“I figured.”

 

Mickey left the door open for Lip to step inside the house – or not, he didn't really care – and turned around to go sit back on his couch. He almost ran into Ian though. The redhead had probably been awaken by Lip's loud knocking and was now standing between the entrance of the house and the living room.

 

“Hey, you're up.” Mickey smiled.

 

Ian nodded in response, and looked at his brother behind Mickey's shoulder.

 

“Hi Lip.”

 

“So you told him?” Lip asked the redhead as Mickey sat back on the couch, and all three of them knew he was referring to his little drinking problem.

 

“I tell him everything.” Ian simply answered, and he went to sit next to Mickey.

 

“Oh yeah?” Lip challenged. “Have you told him about...”

 

He took some time to search his brain for one big secret, and Ian just smiled. A tiny, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless.

 

“You won't find anything.”

 

“Really? What about... all the guys you've been with? All the other dicks you've sucked?”

 

“It's not that he didn't want to tell me.” Mickey chipped in. “It's that I don't really want to hear it.”

 

“Okay. So what about the time you fell down the icy stairs outside the house and our old neighbor Mrs Babiak kissed you on the mouth to _'make you feel better'_?”

 

“I was like 8, and that was you.” Ian sighed.

 

Lip got lost in his thoughts again, probably trying to remember that kiss, and Ian yawned. He moved on the couch to get more comfortable, propping his feet on the cushions and folding his legs, he laid his head on Mickey's laps and closed his eyes. Mickey kept his focus on the TV, a hand running through his husband's hair regularly. Lip cleared his throat, an action that the two other men ignored.

 

“I guess I'm gonna go then.” he said, breaking the cozy silence in which Ian and Mickey had wrapped themselves. “I was just stopping by to check on you Ian.”

 

The redhead opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

 

“I'm fine.” he smiled, genuine. “Really.”

 

Lip nodded and didn't stay for much longer. Ian closed his eyes again when his brother was out of the house, and Mickey kept stroking his hair soothingly. It was just a small gesture, but the redhead seemed to relax under the touch, and Mickey felt so calm doing it. Serene. Warm. Nothing bad could happen, this was their safe place. Not the house – definitely not the house – but this moment, this simple moment was their safe place.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey hates his job, Kev shares too much, and an accident happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter, with quite a few stuff happening, I think you'll like it. :)

 

Ian left Mickey's house on the next day to go spend some time with his worried siblings, leaving Mickey free to go back to work, but also to wander aimlessly in his house that night, and to wake up alone in his bed on the following morning. He took a quick shower, swallowed a few mouthfuls of cereal, and went back to work dragging his feet. He bagged groceries and stocked up shelves from 8am to 1pm, trying to focus on the debilitating tasks to keep his mind from drifting to his husband and his mental health. Ian had seemed better when he had left for the Gallagher house, but he still had this look in his eyes when he was just staring vaguely into space like nothing could ever make him happy anymore. Mickey hated that look. He wished he could make it disappear. If he could choose one disease he could get rid of in just a snap of fingers, he would choose Ian's over his own, there was no doubt in his mind about that.

 

“Um, excuse-me.” a voice called from behind him, and Mickey's mind came crashing back into reality as he turned around to look at the 30-something guy talking to him.

 

He looked like a fucking hipster and he was holding two packs of diapers from competing brands like they were bombs ready to explode.

 

“My wife sent me to buy diapers.” the guy started to explain as if Mickey seemed to care about his life story. “But I don't know which ones to choose. What would you recommend?”

 

“I don't know man.” Mickey sighed. “Do I look like someone who buys diapers?”

 

The costumer looked hesitant to answer that.

 

“It's just that... You work here, right?”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes. _Of course he fucking worked here, would he be wearing this shitty yellow jacket if he wasn't?_ He was about to leave the guy standing alone in the middle of the aisle, when he caught his manager's eyes from the corner of the shelf. Jane was following him like a hawk since he started working at the store, supposedly because he was new, but much likely because of his numerous little trips behind prison bars. Mickey sighed again, and looked more closely at the products the costumer was holding out for him to see.

 

“I think that's the ones we used to buy for my son.” he said, pointing at the pack on the right. “I guess they were good.”

 

The guy nodded appreciatively and thanked him before heading toward the check-out with the brand Mickey had _'recommend'_.

 

“I didn't know you had a son.” Jane said with a smile, walking closer to Mickey.

 

“Yeah, well...” the man shrugged. “You don't know everything about me.”

 

“I know you're married.” his boss smiled brightly – she was a 27-year-old woman who looked 16 and smiled too much considering she was the assistant manager of a shitty grocery store. “It's on your employee's paperwork.” she added as an explanation. “Do you have only one kid?”

 

“That I know of.” Mickey answered, and he grinned internally as Jane's face fell a little.

 

“How old is he?”

 

“Around 2. Probably almost 3.”

 

“What's his name?”

 

Mickey wanted to leave this conversation, but he would most likely be fired if he did, and he couldn't really risk that, so he took a deep breath and kept answering.

 

“Yevgeny.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Yevgeny. It's Russian, like my crazy ex-wife.”

 

“I thought you were still married.”

 

“I'm married. But to her anymore.”

 

“Oh, so your son lives with your ex-wife or you have shared custody?”

 

Mickey blessed all the gods he knew of at that very moment when the loud speaker resonated above them and Jane was called at register number one for an _'emergency'_. Twenty more minutes and he was off the clock and free to go back to his empty house. It didn't take long for his mind to go back to Ian, but this time with an idea for which he could probably thank Jane and her chatty mouth – not that he would though.

 

_***_

 

Mickey entered the Alibi, its smoky ambiance, and the smell of old drunks getting drunker. Kev was behind the bar, making small talk with his patrons, and Mickey walked straight toward him.

 

“Hi Mickey!” the barman exclaimed happily. “Long time no see. How you doing?”

 

“I'm okay.” the Milkovich shrugged.

 

“And Ian?”

 

“He's been better. Svetlana here?”

 

“She's out with V.” Kev replied, pouring more alcohol in the glass of a demanding costumer. “Hey, did the three of you ever did it?” he asked, turning back to Mickey.

 

“What?”

 

“You know, you, Ian, Svet, you ever got... spicy?”

 

Mickey opened his eyes wide and shook his head.

 

“Fuck no!”

 

“You missed out man.” Kev added. “I mean one on one, she's okay, but V is better. When it's the three of us though... Svetlana becomes this crazy Russian sex goddess, and...”

 

“Please shut the fuck up.” Mickey ordered, trying to keep scarring images of Kev, V and Svetlana out of his mind. “I didn't give a shit about her sex life when I was married to her, why would you think I care now?”

 

Kev just shrugged, and Mickey felt chills run all over his body. He was going to fucking think about their weird threesome now. _Fuck._

 

“I'm here to take the kid.” he managed to get out.

 

“Upstairs with the twins. Taking a nap.” Kev answered, jerking his head toward the stairs leading to the upstairs apartment.

 

“Okay.” Mickey nodded. “Tell Svetlana to come pick him up at my house tonight, whenever.”

 

“Will do!” Kev shouted as Mickey walked away from the bar.

 

He climbed the stairs quickly and found Yevgeny playing calmly in his crib. Kev and V's girls were still sleeping, and Mickey walked quietly to not wake them up. The silence was short-lived though as Yevgeny stood up and smiled brightly when he saw Mickey coming toward him.

 

“Dada!” the boy exclaimed happily, raising his arms to be picked up.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Mickey smiled weakly. “If you want.”

 

***

 

The Gallaghers had taken turns in watching over Ian for the past twenty-four hours and the redhead couldn't have been happier to finally get out of the house. He loved his siblings, but he hated having them on his back like that. And the more he said he was feeling fine, the more careful they became. He _was_ fine. He wasn't great, he wouldn't have been capable of going out running, and he was counting his non-fake smiles, but he had felt much worse. He packed his bag under Fiona and Lip's disapproving stares, and kept himself from telling them to leave him the fuck alone.

 

“You sure you don't want to stay longer?” Lip asked.

 

“We barely see you anymore.” Fiona added.

 

“I come back often.” Ian supplied.

 

“Yeah, to leave me your dirty laundry and grab clean clothes. But you haven't spent the night in a while.”

 

“I just did.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

The redhead sighed and turned to fully look at his older siblings.

 

“I'm going back to my husband.” he stated, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

 

***

 

As soon as Ian stepped in the Milkovich house, he knew something was different. The place felt... lighter, and more alive than it had ever been these past few months. He dropped his bag near the couch and look around the empty living room.

 

“Mick?”

 

“In here!” Mickey answered from the hallway.

 

Ian smiled – an actual, real smile – when he saw his husband coming back from the bathroom with a toddler in his arms.

 

“What's Yevgeny doing here?”

 

“He's spending the afternoon with us.” Mickey smiled back. “He had a little leaking diaper emergency, but he's all good now.”

 

Yevgeny waved his hands at Ian, wordlessly asking to go into his arms, and the redhead was more than happy to comply.

 

“Dada!” the little boy exclaimed happily as he switched from Mickey's hands to Ian's.

 

“Did he just call me 'dada'?” Ian asked his husband.

 

“Yeah, but don't get too excited, he also called me 'dada'. And Kev too. I think it's his word for _'strange m_ _e_ _n that more or less raise me'_.”

 

“I'll take it.” Ian shrugged.

 

He hugged the little boy tight and kissed him loudly on the cheek. Yevgeny laughed, and Ian released him on the ground, letting him play with the toys he hadn't noticed before, to go kiss his husband – also on the cheek.

 

“Do you realize I have two deadbeat parents, you have one very shitty father, and this kid has two great moms and three awesome dads?”

 

“Yeah.” Mickey nodded. “Poor kid's gonna be picked on at school...”

 

Ian shook his head. This kid was lucky, and if it meant being picked on by a bunch of stupid brats, then so be it, it would make him stronger, and at least he had half a dozen good parents to come home to. The redhead left his husband in the kitchen and went to sit on the floor next to Yevgeny. He grabbed the fluffy bunny the little boy was ignoring in order to play with whatever crap he could find under the couch.

 

“That yours?” Ian asked, and Yevgeny nodded. “What's its name?”

 

The little boy didn't answer, he just kept exploring the dirty living room, and Ian couldn't help himself to think they should really clean more often.

 

“Fuck!” Mickey suddenly yelled from the kitchen.

 

Ian stood up immediately.

 

“What?”

 

“I was slicing an apple for the kid.” Mickey answered. “And I cut myself.”

 

Even though he was already far away, Ian took a step back and grabbed Yevgeny as a protection reflex.

 

“It's fine.” Mickey shook his head. “You're like ten feet away, and I'm not gonna flood the room with my blood, it's just a small cut.”

 

“You need to throw the apple away.” Ian said, still keeping his distance. “And the knife. Double bag them.”

 

“The knife too? Can't I just wash it?”

 

“I don't know, I don't wanna risk it.”

 

“Okay.” Mickey conceded. “Could you at least bring me the first aid kit?”

 

Ian nodded and sat Yevgeny on the couch.

 

“Stay here.” he ordered the kid. “Don't move.”

 

Ian heard Mickey huff from the kitchen, but he didn't care, better safe than sorry. He went into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, and came back into the kitchen merely seconds later to find Yevgeny walking toward Mickey.

 

“Dada!”

 

“Yevgeny!” Ian tried not to shout – but he still managed to make both father and son jump. “Go back on the couch. Now.”

 

The little boy seemed to understand the gravity of Ian's words and ran back to the living room. The redhead put the first aid kit on the kitchen counter at a safe distance from Mickey, but the brunet sighed.

 

“Can you open the box, and give me the disinfectant, some cotton, and a bandage? Please.”

 

Ian took a deep breath and did what he was told, leaving the items at equal distance between him and Mickey.

 

“I can't do more, sorry.”

 

“I know, it's okay.” Mickey smiled. “Thank you.”

 

Ian nodded and went to sit next to Yevgeny on the couch. They both turned around to watch Mickey taking care of his wound as best as he could with only one useable hand.

 

“You see little man,” Ian started to explain to the toddler. “Dada Mickey is sick, and we can't touch him when he bleeds, because it could be very bad for us.”

 

He wasn't sure the little boy understood, but he knew it was a good idea to be honest about what was happening, especially after having yelled at him.

 

“All good!” Mickey exclaimed, raising his hand to show his bandage-covered finger. “No need to panic anymore.”

 

“How did you even cut yourself slicing an apple anyway?”

 

“It was a very small cut, you're the one who went ape shit over it.”

 

Mickey put the apple, the knife and the used cotton ball in a plastic bag in another plastic bag and threw it in the trash, as Ian put the first aid kit back in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The redhead came back and threw a small ball at Mickey.

 

“The fuck is this?”

 

“For your hand.”

 

Mickey unfolded the little ball and looked at the latex glove.

 

“Did you just give a hand condom?”

 

“You can't risk touching Yev with it.”

 

“I put a bandage on the cut.”

 

“Better safe than sorry.”

 

Mickey sighed, but Ian knew he was right, and he knew that Mickey knew it too.

 

***

 

“Why did you took Yevgeny today?”

 

Mickey didn't say anything. He took his shirt off and climbed into bed in only his boxers.

 

“Mick?”

 

Mickey laid on his side to look at Ian.

 

“It made you feel better, right?”

 

“It did.” Ian smiled.

 

Mickey dropped on his back and focused his eyes on the ceiling.

 

“I remember, the first time, when... when we couldn't get you out of bed... Svetlana had dropped the baby in my arms and left for work, he was crying, and I couldn't get him to stop, but I also wanted to check on you, so I went in the bedroom with the crying baby. It was the first time you saw him since... since you started being depressed. And I just, I put him on the bed for like ten seconds and you turned to look at him, you put your hand on his belly and he stopped crying. You finally did... something. So I brought him back to you a few minutes everyday, and each time we stayed longer and you started to feel better. So this morning I thought maybe you'd feel better if you saw him...”

 

Ian grabbed Mickey's hand – the naked one.

 

“It did. My brain is still foggy, but there's something warm now too. Like a light.”

 

“A beacon?”

 

“I guess it's kinda like a beacon, yeah.”

 

“Is it far away?”

 

“It's getting closer.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian receives a worrying phone call at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut myself slicing an apple today. Thankfully for me, I don't have hepatitis, or a toddler, or a freaking-out husband so I didn't have to wear a “hand condom” (although I wouldn't say no to the husband if he came in the form of a giant redhead looking like Ian/Cameron).
> 
> And I'm sorry for uploading the new chapter and answering to your comments later than usual, I've been really sick this weekend. I'm better now though, so it's all good. :)
> 
> Also, I watched 7x01, and I really, really liked it. **Spoiler alert!** I absolutely adore no-men Fiona, I had been waiting for her to be single for SO long, and I'm so happy it's finally part of the plot. Lip didn't annoy me as much as usual, I actually felt for him this time, he's clearly fooling himself but I was into his story, and I really loved that scene in the street when he tries to walk straight and touches his nose, it was moving. Ian was more expressive and “alive” than last season, thank god! I really like Sue, his co-worker, she's funny, I loved seeing him happy at work, and I'm actually curious to see how this storyline with Caleb (and very possibly break-up) is gonna play out. I'm worried for Debbie, but I liked her energy and her willingness to do everything she can to take care of her baby, although I'm certain it's gonna end badly for her. Carl and Dominique still going strong makes me happy, and all these brotherly scenes (especially the one in which they share about circumcision) are just the best. And Kev, V  & Svetlana are the perfect thrupple, I love it! :)

 

Mickey woke up to a hard-on pocking him in the back and hips gently thrusting against his pelvis.

 

“I see that somebody's sex drive is back...”

 

Ian just hummed in response and started grinding harder against Mickey's ass.

 

“Slow down cow-boy, you don't wanna waste all your energy on dry humping, do you?”

 

“Hum, no. I wanna fuck you nice and slow.” Ian murmured in his ear.

 

That was exactly what Mickey wanted to hear. He pulled slightly away from his husband to reach for the lube and condom on the bedside table, and Ian took them out of his hand as soon as they were close enough. Mickey relaxed back against the redhead and closed his eyes when he heard the cap of the lube being open. He let Ian finger him at a leisurely pace, enjoying everything inch the redhead was giving him. The early morning light, lazy in bed, flush against his husband, Ian's breath on his neck, he could have stayed like that forever. Ian didn't seem to share the idea though. He took his fingers out too soon for Mickey's taste to, thankfully, replace them with his dick. Mickey moaned, and Ian grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, caressing with his thumb the scar that had almost disappeared on Mickey's index.

 

“I missed you.” Ian whispered in his ear, before dropping a kiss just behind it.

 

“It hasn't been that long.” Mickey answered, but he had missed Ian too, he had missed the physical closeness, and moments like this.

 

Ian thrust just a little harder, and buried his face in Mickey's shoulder. Mickey sighed. He loved the hard fucking that made him forget his own name, but this, this he loved even more, the slow, loving pace, and all the feelings shared but not said.

 

“I missed you too.” he heard himself confessed before he could stop it – not that he actually mind saying such things, not anymore.

 

***

 

Ian was just coming back at the station after an intervention when his phone rang. Unknown number. He considered not picking up, he wasn't in the mood to listen to someone in a cubicle trying to sell him soap dispensers or solar panels, but there was still this tiny possibility in his mind that the phone call was about Mickey, that his husband was in trouble, so he answered.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi. I'm Jane, assistant manager at the grocery store Mickey Milkovich works at.”

 

“Yes? What's going on?”

 

“Your phone number was written down as his emergency contact under _'Spouse'_. Am I calling the right person?”

 

For a second Ian thought that there was probably a reason for Mickey not to tell his boss he was married to a man, but right now he didn't care, if she was calling it meant that something was going on with Mickey, and Ian wanted nothing more but to be sure his husband was okay.

 

“Yes, I am the spouse.” he tried not to bark. “Is Mickey okay?”

 

On the other end of the line, Jane took a second to answer, probably getting over the revelation that Mickey was gay.

 

“Yeah, um... no.” she finally stuttered. “He's sick. He locked himself in the bathroom about an hour ago and he's still there. He's vomiting a lot.”

 

“Is he still conscious?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, we called for him a few times and he answered.”

 

“Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

 

Ian hang up the phone, and took a deep breath. Mickey would be fine. He had been through worse. Breathing in. Breathing out. Mickey would be fine.

 

***

 

Mickey Milkovich married to a man? Jane had _not_ been expecting that. She tried to recall any little hint she could have missed, but all she could think about was Mickey mentioning an ex-wife and a kid, and back then she already had trouble imagining him as a husband and a father, but Mickey Milkovich gay – or bi, or just _not straight_ – was an abstract notion.

 

Jane sent Gloria to check on Mickey and waited by the announcement desk. A tall redhead in paramedic gear arrived about fifteen minutes after she made the call.

 

“Where's Mickey?” he asked in a panicked voice.

 

“Hey, it's Condoms Guy!” Wendy exclaimed from her register, just a few feet away.

 

Both Jane and the redhead turned to her.

 

“Condoms Guy.” Wendy repeated, obtaining a nod from Elliot, who was packing a bag and acting like he knew what she was talking about. “Every time he comes in the store he buys at least one box of condoms and he always chooses the check-out station Mickey is working at, even if it has the biggest line.”

 

The redhead blushed and lowered his head. Jane had to admit: he was really cute.

 

“Well Condoms Guy is Mickey's husband.” she told Wendy and Elliot, who both opened wide eyes and wide mouths.

 

“Ian.” the redhead mumbled. “My name is Ian.”

 

“Okay.” Jane smiled. “Mickey's that way.”

 

She waved her hand for Ian to follow her and lead him out back to the employee's bathroom. She couldn't help but sneak some glances at the redhead while they walked, from up-close he wasn't just cute, he was fucking gorgeous. _Well done Mickey._

 

They arrived in front of the stall Mickey had locked himself in, and Ian knocked lightly on the door.

 

“Mick, it's me. You okay?”

 

Mickey grunted something from inside and Ian knocked on the door again.

 

“Let me in please?”

 

The lock made a little noise and Ian slowly pushed the door open. He kneeled near Mickey who was sitting on the floor against the wall.

 

“You okay?”

 

His voice was soft, and Mickey nodded quietly before letting himself being pulled into a hug. Not only Jane had never seen Mickey like that, clear of his tough exterior, South Side thug, and ex-con demeanor, but she was also kind of jealous, she wished she had a husband who cared that much, she wished she had the beautiful relationship like these two seemed to have. She had only seen them interacting for about two minutes, but it was already more than obvious that they loved each other very much. She had never had that with someone before...

 

***

 

“I called your doctor on my way over.” Ian explained as they boarded the L. “He'll be waiting for us.”

 

Mickey nodded in silence.

 

“Are you pissed that I told your coworkers I'm your husband?” Ian asked.

 

He had to ask. Now that he knew that Mickey was more or less okay and that they were on their way to the doctor, it was safe for him to wonder if he had made a mistake. Mickey raised his head and smiled at him.

 

“No.” he simply said. “It's not like I hid them anything, I just never told them. I haven't told them much actually, I don't really talk to them, they barely know me.”

 

Ian hinted a small smile.

 

“Look,” Mickey added. “I put your phone number under _'spouse'_. If I didn't want people to know we're married, I would have written _'roommate'_ , or _'friend'_ , or I could have chosen Mandy as my emergency contact at work. I wasn't trying to hide anything.”

 

Ian's smile grew bigger, and he squeezed Mickey's knee lightly.

 

“Okay.”

 

***

 

The doctor sat back down on his chair with Mickey's results written in the file he was holding, and Ian grabbed Mickey's hand. _No more liver failure, please, no more liver failure._

 

“Alright.” the doctor sighed. “According to the numerous tests I've done thanks to Mr Gallagher's strong requests, there is absolutely nothing wrong. Mickey you started feeling sick at work, right?”

 

“Yeah, about an hour after I started working, I felt nauseous. I threw up a few times, and now we're here.”

 

“You're still feeling nauseous?”

 

“A little yes, but not as much.”

 

“Okay, so I have reasons to believe that this was just a little food poisoning.”

 

“Food poisoning?” Ian repeated out loud.

 

“Yes, Mr Gallagher, simple food poisoning. What did you eat last night?”

 

“Spaghetti and meat balls.” Mickey answered.

 

“Both of you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And this morning?”

 

“Ian left at like 4am for an early shift, so we didn't eat together, but I had a sandwich.”

 

 _A sandwich?_ Had Mickey eat outside this morning? It wasn't really his style...

 

“What sandwich?” Ian asked his husband.

 

“It was in the fridge...”

 

And suddenly the redhead knew what Mickey was talking about.

 

“You ate that?!”

 

“Yeah, I thought you, maybe...”

 

“Made it for you? God no, I think Iggy left it there, it's been in the fridge forever!”

 

“Well it wasn't that bad.” Mickey shrugged.

 

“It clearly was.” Ian replied.

 

From the corner of his eyes, the redhead saw the doctor's lips raise into a little smirk. He couldn't really blame him.

 

***

 

Mickey came back to work the next day with his head low. He barely acknowledged his coworkers, and only greeted them with a nod of the head or a grunted “Hi”. In other words, he acted the exact same way than every other day. Although this time he noticed the looks, and the whispered words behind his back, and he was only there for five minutes when Jane called him in her office. It was a small room, barely bigger than a closet, but the woman had managed to fit a desk in there, as well as a shelf filled with the employee's files and records.

 

“Hi Mickey.” she said with a smile as he walked in. “How are you doing today?”

 

“I'm fine. It was nothing to worry about.”

 

“Good. I'm glad.”

 

She smiled again.

 

“How's your husband?”

 

Mickey sighed. _Here we go._

 

“Look, you can't fire me for not telling you about my sexual preferences, and I had no legal obligation to tell you. I checked.”

 

“I know.” Jane nodded. “I was genuinely asking. I like Ian, he seems nice.”

 

_Oh._

 

“I don't care who you share your life – or your bed – with, Mickey, and you won't have any trouble for it. I only informed direction that you went home sick yesterday, and it's not my place to tell them more than that. But I want you to be aware that employees talk, and I'm pretty sure everybody knows by now that you have a husband. And from the people I've seen this morning, only Elliot is really being an asshole, but I'll make sure he won't cross a line and stay correct, and if he really has a problem with your sexuality, then he'll be the one to go.”

 

Mickey nodded. Elliot had always been an asshole anyway, so nothing new under the sun. Jane dismissed him, only calling him back when he had his hand on the door knob.

 

“Did you know Rachel is a lesbian?”

 

Mickey shook his head.

 

“No. I didn't.”

 

And he didn't give a shit, but apparently Jane expected him to know that piece of information, and he was ready to bet they were going to be paired up more often in the future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is almost reaching an end. I don't have a definitive number of chapter in mind yet, but I'm thinking it'll be around 18-20, so there's 5 chapters left max. Thanks for reading :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much all for your nice messages, I read them all even if I didn't answer. I know I wasn't away for long, but I am already feeling better. I think I needed to let go. I needed to allow myself to not be okay for a while, and to not write, and not meet the deadlines I was forcing myself to respect. I probably also needed to take a step back from this toxic fandom, and I know I say that often, but I _really_ need to stay away from Tumblr. Anyway... I am posting this new chapter today, but from now on I will keep things slow, not posting every two or three days like I used to, so I don't know yet when the next update will be, I am taking my time. :)

 

Ian strapped the baby carrier around his waist and shoulders, securing the child in it, and grabbed the diaper bag, before stepping outside on the street. He quickly walked the distance separating him from the house he knew almost better than his own. He knocked three short times on the door, and he asked himself why he wasn't just walking in like he did most times. Before he had more time to dwell on it though, Mickey opened the door. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

 

“You kidnapped another baby?”

 

“Fuck you.” Ian smiled back, also giving his husband the finger to accentuate his point. “This is Frannie, Debbie's baby.”

 

“Oh yeah, right.” Mickey nodded, opening the door wider to let Ian in. “I keep forgetting about that.”

 

The redhead stepped inside the house, but didn't get too comfortable, he knew they had to go back outside soon.

 

“What'd you have her anyway?” Mickey asked, grabbing his wallet from the coffee table.

 

“Debbie has exams at school today, so I offered to babysit.” Ian just shrugged as Frannie babbled against his chest.

 

“So we're gonna be stuck with a baby all day long?” Mickey sighed, clearly annoyed by the idea.

 

Ian walked back outside, standing on the porch while Mickey closed the door.

 

“We'll just hit a couple of stores, and then come back here so it'll be easier for us, and for her.”

 

“I don't even understand why we have to go shopping anyway.”

 

“Because you need new clothes Mick. You have like two dress shirts, one good pair of pants, and a bunch of T-shirts with the sleeves cut off.”

 

“Aye. I love these shirts.”

 

“I like those shirts too.” Ian smiled. “But you need more grown-up clothes, something that doesn't look like you just picked it out of the dumpster.”

 

“Don't talk about my shirts like that. Not having sleeves give them character.”

 

“Tell yourself whatever story you want, you're buying more clothes.”

 

“You're a bully, I don't even know why I listen to you.”

 

“Because you know I could blackmail you and withdraw sex until you'd renew your entire wardrobe.”

 

“One, you'd break before me. Two, how dare you talk like this in front of a baby?”

 

“She's got to learn someday.” Ian smiled. “Right little Frannie,” he added in his best baby voice, pocking the girl's stomach gently. “One day you'll have this fight with your husband too.”

 

“Maybe she'll be a lesbian.” Mickey tried with a little smirk.

 

“And I don't think she'll like to see her wife dressed like a homeless person.” the redhead pointed out.

 

Mickey mumbled something under his breath, and Ian knew he had won this round.

 

***

 

A hundred of groans, the double of sighs, and two hours later, Mickey had tried all the pants and shirts Ian had thrown his way. He was exhausted, he was annoyed, and he would never, for the life of him, admit that going out shopping had maybe been a good idea and that he had found a few good items. He folded the pair of pants he had decided to buy, and hung the other two he had just tried on on the rack just outside the fitting room. He looked around to find his husband having an apparently very funny conversation with some girl near the socks section. Mickey tried to ignore the tighteness in his stomach as he walked up to them.

 

“Who the fuck is this?”

 

Ian turned away from the girl – okay, _young woman_ – to look at his husband, and send him a blinding smile.

 

“Mick, this is Tasha. We were talking about how cute Frannie is.”

 

“Yes,” Tasha – _what a stupid name_ – added. “I was just telling your friend how I wish I had a daughter like his.”

 

Mickey snorted a small laugh.

 

“He's not my friend. And the baby's not his.”

 

“Mick...” Ian tried to soothe, but Mickey wasn't in the mood to hear it, he hadn't came all the way down here to buy pants he didn't even want in the first place and watch Ian flirt with some pretty girl. “Sorry.” the redhead added to Tasha. “My husband's a grumpy old man.”

 

The girl's face fell a little at Ian's relationship update, and Mickey smiled, basking in her disappointement. She pulled herself together too fast though.

 

“That's alright.” she smiled back. “The baby is still cute.”

 

Ian nodded. The girl nodded. Mickey nodded. A small, awkward silence settled.

 

“I gotta go.” Tasha finally said. “It was nice to meet you.”

 

She smiled one last time at Ian, waved her fingers at the baby, and took off, her eyes avoiding Mickey's at all cost.

 

“She wanted to get in your pants.” the black-haired man said matter of factly.

 

Ian shook his head in disbelief.

 

“She did not. She just thought the baby was cute.”

 

“You serious?” Mickey raised his eyebrows. “This chick was drooling over you, and the baby was just a prop. You look like an eligible single father with this thing wrapped around your chest.”

 

“Good thing I'm not then.”

 

“What, eligible?”

 

“Single.” Ian smiled again. “And straight. Even if I were single, I would definitely not go for her.”

 

Mickey nodded, letting a little smirk form on his lips.

 

“Who would you go for then?”

 

“Um...” Ian pretented to think. “A grumpy old man?”

 

“Oh yeah, right.” Mickey nodded. “I forgot about your obsession for geriatrics who can't get it up without the help of a little blue pill.”

 

“Fuck you.” Ian replied without any bite in his words, grinning too widely for Mickey's sake.

 

***

 

After an exhausting day at work for both men, and before a couple rounds of sex, Ian decided to absentmindedly go through some paperwork, trying not to let himself being distracted by his very sexy husband cooking their dinner in the kitchen, when something caught his attention.

 

“Hey Mick.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You've been working at the store for two months now.”

 

“Yeah. So?”

 

Ian stood up from where he was sitting at the table, keeping the official document in hand.

 

“You have health insurance now.” he said slowly. “You don't need me anymore.”

 

“I need you for your dick.” Mickey joked, but Ian didn't laugh.

 

Something about the idea that Mickey didn't need him for the insurance, didn't need their marriage anymore, was bothering him. He couldn't pinpoint what that was, or why, but it didn't sit well with him.

 

“Do you want to stay married to me?” he asked, looking up at Mickey and fearing the answer to that question.

 

The black-haired man didn't detach his eyes from the cooking pan in front of him, and just shrugged.

 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

 

_Yeah, sure,_ _whatever?_ Ian took a shaky breath.

 

“Okay, I get it.” he snapped, and left the piece of paper on the table before heading through the front door.

 

***

 

Mickey realized he had screwed up when the door slammed shut behind Ian. He had wanted to play it cool, like this question wasn't making his inside burst, he had wanted to let Ian the possibility to back out of their marriage, to leave a door open. What was he supposed to say? _Yes, I want to stay married to you for all eternity and have your babies even though it's not biologically possible?_ Okay, maybe that was what he should have said...

 

“Fuck.”

 

He turned the gas off under their dinner and ran out of the house after his husband. Ian hadn't left the street yet, but he was furiously walking toward the Gallagher house.

 

“Ian!” Mickey called. “Wait!”

 

The redhead turned around, his face red and angry.

 

“What? You wanna sign the divorce papers right now?”

 

“No, come on, Ian.”

 

Mickey took the last few steps separating him from his husband. He was about to grab his hands and start a whole speech when he caught an old lady watching them from the corner of his eyes.

 

“The fuck you looking at?” he yelled at her.

 

The old lady seemed scared enough and kept walking in the opposite direction. Mickey turned back to Ian, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

 

“I love you.” Mickey breathed. “I want to stay married to you even though we don't have to. I want to fall asleep next you at night, and wake up with you on the morning. I want to see your face every night when I come back from work, even when you're exhausted because you spent hours rescuing people from a crazy bus accident that day. I want to eat pizza bagels with you, kick your ass in a video game and watch old Van Damme movies together. I want to be sick with you, and I want to be healthy with you. I want us to drive the kid to school in the morning, and go to his Little League games during the weekend. I want us to still have crazy sex even when our pubes will go gray. I want the happily ever after fairy tale shit.”

 

Mickey took a deep breath. He raised his eyes to meet Ian's green opals looking at him intensely. They stared at each other for a beat, Mickey's heart pounding like crazy in his chest.

 

“I want that too.” Ian finally whispered with a small smile. “All of it.”

 

The redhead took a step forward and placed a hand on Mickey's cheek. He brought their foreheads together and murmured a few words in the air they shared.

 

“I love you so much.”

 

“You should burn in hell!” a voice interrupted their moment, and Mickey turned back to glare at the same old lady than before.

 

“You're still fucking here?”

 

***

 

“How come you're younger than me and already married twice and I can't even find a decent date?” Jane lamented as she handed Mickey a can of soup to stock on the shelf.

 

Mickey smiled.

 

“Well my ex-wife doesn't really count.”

 

Jane raised a questioning eyebrow.

 

“She got pregnant, I married her.” Mickey simply answered. “I never loved her, I wasn't even attracted to her. There isn't much more to tell.”

 

“Okay, so Ian then. How long have you two been together when you got married?”

 

“Years. On and off. T'was complicated. But yeah, he was 15 and I was barely 17 when we started. We've known each other for years before that though, we grew up in the same neighborhood.”

 

“So he's like your childhood sweetheart?”

 

“Kinda.”

 

Jane smiled brightly, and Mickey could only imagine what kind of cliché romantic bullshit of epic lovestories was going on in her mind right now.

 

“Would you say he's _the one_?” she wondered, her eyes fixed on Mickey but already drifting far away from the shitty store they were working in.

 

“Yeah, I guess.” Mickey shrugged.

 

“Oh, it's cute.” a voice from behind them said, and before Mickey could react arms were wrapped around his waist and a kiss was dropped on his cheek.

 

He jumped out of his skin for half a second before his brain recognized the voice, the touch and the smell.

 

“Fuck, don't do that.” he told his husband somewhat threateningly, but not really meaning it.

 

“Sorry.” Ian smiled softly, breaking away from Mickey's body and nodding at Jane in greetings. “When's your lunch break?” he asked, showing the paper bag he was holding.

 

“You can take it now.” Jane informed Mickey when she saw the black-haired man looking at her. “I'll get someone else to finish this for you.”

 

Jane was always favoring Mickey when Ian was around, and the Milkovich couldn't really figure out if it was because she was fearing a discrimination lawsuit, or just because she had a crush on the redhead. He didn't dwell on it for too long though as Ian was pulling him away, heading toward the employee's exit leading to the roof – they were probably not allowed up there but, again, Jane never reprehended them for occasionnally choosing this place as their lunch retreat.

 

“You bring me my lunch now?” Mickey asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Are you turning into a 1960s housewife?”

 

“It depends.” Ian smirked back. “I was kind of hoping we'd eat fast enough so I have time to blow you before going back to work. Does it work with the 60s wife persona?”

 

“It works for me.” Mickey winked.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might seem weird, but I love watching Shameless with my family, we all have our favorites, it's cute. My mom has the biggest crush on Lip, my brother adores Carl, and I'm a forever supporter of Ian. Plus, we are all members of the Mickey Milkovich fanclub, because, as my mom would say, “how can you not love Mickey?” ;)
> 
> Also, this chapter is short and not much happens, but there is a reason behind it I will address later on. Thanks for bearing with me on that one.

 

“IAN!!!”

 

The scream resonated through the house, chilling the redhead to his bones. He stopped what he was doing, leaving the breasts of raw chicken on the kitchen counter, next to a half-pealed potato, and he ran to the bathroom.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Mickey was in front of the mirror. He turned away from his own reflexion to look at his husband.

 

“I'm loosing my hair...” he said, his voice dropping near the end of the sentence.

 

He gripped at his own scalp and tore a handful of hair away, illustrating his statement. Ian released the breath he had been holding, Mickey's cry had made him imagine a much bigger issue.

 

“It's a side effect of your meds, right?”

 

Mickey nodded silently, his eyes wide in horror.

 

“You should shave your head.” Ian suggested.

 

“I don't wanna be bald.”

 

“Well, it'll be better to be completely bald than having patchy baldness in the oddest places all over your head.” Ian stated calmly. “I can shave mine with you if you want.”

 

Mickey's eyes went even wider.

 

“No. No fucking way. You are _not_ shaving your hair.”

 

“I'm starting to think you like my hair more than me.” Ian smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.

 

“I do.” Mickey replied in all seriousness. “Your hair and your dick, that's all I like about you.”

 

Ian's smile grew a little bigger.

 

“You could buy a wig.” he shrugged.

 

“A wig?” Mickey repeated. “Who the fuck wears a wig?”

 

“Sick people who take medication that make them loose their hair.”

 

Mickey sighed. He looked back at his reflexion in the mirror, and Ian saw in his eyes that maybe a wig wasn't such a bad idea.

 

***

 

It took three more days to convince Mickey to shave his head. He had taken an appointment with a medical wig specialist, and they had told him it would be easier if he went there completely bald.

 

“You want me to do it?” Ian asked after ten minutes of Mickey staring blankly at the electric shaver he had bought.

 

“No, I can do this.” Mickey answered, finally raising his eyes to meet his reflexion in the mirror.

 

“It will grow back.” Ian tried in his best comforting voice.

 

“Yeah, when I stop taking the meds, so in like five fucking years. At best.”

 

“I'm sure you'll look sexy without hair.” the redhead said with a smile.

 

He met Mickey's eyes in the mirror, and the other man grinned as well.

 

“Good thing I'm buying a wig then.” he said with a wink. “Wouldn't want to be too sexy.”

 

“Shut up and shave your head.” Ian replied, grabbing his buzzing phone in his jeans' pocket.

 

He looked down at the device to see a text from Fiona, and when he looked back up Mickey had started the process of getting rid of his hair. Ian grimaced lightly, and tried not to show he was also very upset about this.

 

“I gotta go see Fiona.” he said as Mickey was halfway done. “She just texted me, and it seems pretty important.”

 

“Okay.” Mickey answered, not loosing sight of himself in the mirror.

 

“I'll be back soon.” Ian promised before leaving his husband alone in the difficult task.

 

***

 

Ian found his older sister busy in the kitchen, cleaning the breakfast table.

 

“Hey.” the redhead greeted lightly. “Where's everybody?”

 

“School.” Fiona said simply.

 

“Okay. You wanted to talk to me?”

 

“Yes. Sit.”

 

Ian didn't like the short answers and the authoritarian tone, but he obeyed, taking a seat on one of the chair around the table. Fiona finished to put the dirty dishes in the sink before she came to sit in the chair next to his.

 

“How you doing Pumpkin?” she asked with a gentle _'mommy smile'_.

 

“Uh... Slightly freaking out. What's going on?”

 

Fiona took a deep breath. Ian was waiting for the bomb to drop. She hadn't call him 'Pumpkin' in years, and lately she only used the mommy act on him when he was really sick.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about Mickey and your marriage.” Fiona finally said, and Ian sighed loudly, rolling his eyes to accentuate his discontentment. “I'm not gonna try to break you two up.” Fiona quickly added. “I just wanted to be sure you know what you are doing.”

 

“Yes.” Ian answered steadily. “We've been properly married for a few months now, and I'm really happy. I love him, Fi.”

 

“I know you do, but you two you have a... complicated past.”

 

“You don't know the half of it.”

 

“And that's what scares me. I'm afraid he's gonna bail on you when you really need him.”

 

“He won't.”

 

“He did it once before.”

 

The memory of Mickey not being present for Ian's release of the hospital after his first psychotic break hung in the air for a long moment.

 

“He's not Frank.” Ian stated, breaking the silence.

 

“I know.” Fiona replied softly.

 

“And I'm not Monica.”

 

Fiona nodded silently.

 

“I'm taking my meds Fi. And Mickey is taking his. We don't drink, we don't do drugs, we follow the doctor's instructions, and the last time I was depressed I told Mickey immediately and he took me to the clinic. We're doing good individually, and we're good for each other. I know this is a foreign concept for you, but sometimes a relationship can work.”

 

“Ian.”

 

Fiona frowned her eyebrows in a half hurt, half _'don't talk to me like that'_ expression.

 

“I'm serious.” Ian replied. “If you don't understand that I'm happy in a healthy relationship, then it's your problem, not mine.”

 

***

 

Mickey finished shaving his head and looked at himself in the mirror one last time. It wasn't bad, he had expected worse, but his skull still felt naked, and he still missed his hair. He heard the front door slam shut, and he exited the bathroom.

 

“You're back alread...?” he started to shout before stopping in front of Lip standing awkwardly in the living room.

 

“I knocked.” the Gallagher said apologetically.

 

“Ian ain't here.”

 

“I know. I came to see you.”

 

“So what? You tricked Ian into going to Fiona's so you can corner me alone?”

 

“No.” Lip said honestly. “I was around and I saw him getting out of the house so I thought it would be a good occasion to talk to you.”

 

Mickey stared at the other man for a beat. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture, but he also knew that if a Gallagher had decided on something, there was no way of escaping it.

 

“What happened to your hair?” Lip suddenly asked.

 

“None of your fucking business. What do you want?”

 

“I want to make peace. I love my little brother, and I think it's time for me to get along with his husband.”

 

“Is that a AA step or some shit?”

 

“No, it's me being the bigger man.”

 

Mickey sighed. No matter what, Lip would always remain an arrogant shit.

 

“Look,” the Gallagher added. “We used to at least be cordial to each other, you know before you beat me up instead of Ian because you thought he messed with Mandy, or before you abandoned me to the cops after putting a rifle in my hands and shooting at a coffee house. I spent the night in a dumpster.”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

“Okay, that first time you insulted Mandy so it was totally justified. And I never forced you to tag along with us at the coffee place, you were the one who acted all high and mighty trying to prove you were South Side.”

 

Lip nodded slightly, and Mickey watched him for a beat. Lip was trying, he had taken a step toward Mickey, and the Milkovich knew it would make Ian happy if the two of them buried the hatchet.

 

“You want something to drink?” the black-haired man asked. “We've got pop, juice, or... water.”

 

“Mickey Milkovich doesn't even have beer?”

 

“Can't drink beer anymore. But I'm guessing you can't either, so... Diet Coke?”

 

“Yeah.” Lip nodded. “What's your disease anyway?”

 

Mickey took two cans of Coke out of the fridge and handed one to the other man.

 

“You don't know?”

 

“I haven't talked to Ian much lately...”

 

Mickey opened his can and sipped some of the carbonated liquid. He sat at the kitchen table, and Lip imitated him.

 

“You can't ask Ian to stay away from me after you know.” Mickey warned. “He's already fully aware of the risks, and he made his own decision.”

 

“What? You got AIDS or something?” Lip joked.

 

“Almost.” Mickey simply shrugged.

 

“What's _almost AIDS_?”

 

“Hepatitis. Similar medication, pretty much the same transmission mode, easier to get rid of.”

 

“Shit.” Lip breathed. “Who did you sleep with?”

 

Mickey didn't reply, he just raised his middle finger with a smirk. He saw Lip smile back. At least they could joke about it, and Mickey had expected a much worse reaction from Ian's overprotective older brother. Maybe they were on the right tracks. Lip took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and brought one to his lips.

 

“Want one?” he asked Mickey, who nodded eagerly.

 

“Thanks. I smoke like two packs a day.” the black-haired man explained while lighting the death stick.

 

“Me too.” Lip replied. “Helps me keep off the booze.”

 

“Same.” Mickey nodded. “Ian says I'll end up with lung cancer.”

 

“He's probably right.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody is wondering what's going on with Chapter 18, here's a [Tumblr post](http://ilostmylifeonline.tumblr.com/post/152124659683/me-trying-to-write-right-now) talking about it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? ;)
> 
> Sooooo..... First of all, I changed a very small part of dialogue in Chapter 11 (the Paramedic/Firefighter ball). When I first wrote it, season 7 hadn't started yet so I didn't know how Ian and Caleb would break up. Now that I've seen it, I enjoyed adding a little Denise reference in their dialogue. I just wanted to let you know I did that, it's just a couple of more lines, if you want to read it.
> 
> Second, I chickened out and I didn't write this “Chapter 18” I was struggling with. To tell you the truth, it was a chapter in which a character had a panic attack, and it also contained a very raw, heart-to-heart conversation between Ian & Mickey about Terry, and Svetlana and 3x666. But I'm hoping to finish it at some point and maybe post it as a “deleted scene” to this installment. In the meantime though, I jumped right to the next chapter, a way easier one to write. :)

 

Mickey stirred, and turned on his side, trying to keep his eyes away from the already too violent sunlight in order to catch some more time of sleep. He extended his arm, reaching over the other side of the mattress, hoping to find warm skin to snuggle against, but his hand fell flat on the cold sheet, meaning it had been abandoned for a while now. The absence of a comforting presence next to him in bed forced Mickey to open his eyes, and he noted that he was, indeed, alone. He grabbed his phone on the bedside table and turned it on. The digital numbers flashed across the screen as the device lightened up. 7.30am? Why the fuck was Ian up so early? And that's when Mickey noticed the date. Fuck. His heart started beating faster and his blood turned cold. Ian had left. Ian had realized what day it was and he had ran away from Mickey. Shit.

 

Mickey rubbed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow. He was ready to abandon all hope and spend his day crying when he felt something against his cheek. A piece of paper? Probably the fucking 'I can't do this. Goodbye.' letter. He grabbed it and ripped the envelop open violently.

 

_**I jump and run** _

_**Hoops and fake gun** _

_**You shoot and miss** _

_**Use fucking blanks next time** _

 

 _Wait what?_ Mickey re-read the pseudo poem three times before something clicked in his mind. He took his phone back and sent a short text to his apparently still husband.

 

_[From Mickey] A fucking treasure hunt? You're too corny Gallagher!_

 

And, of fucking course, all he received in response was a winking smiley. Fucking Gallagher. Mickey sighed and reluctantly climbed out of bed. His plans of spending the entire day inside and naked with his husband were now effectively ruined, but he was also kind of curious as to what Ian had planned exactly, and he already knew where the first clue was leading him.

 

***

 

He arrived at the old abandoned building about twenty minutes later – so what if he had skipped the shower and had sort of run to get there? – only to find the place completely empty. He climbed the stairs all the way to the top of the building, on the roof, looked around, nothing. He couldn't have gotten this wrong, the poem was weird and shitty, but it was pretty obvious. He re-read the piece of paper one more time and lowered his eyes to the ground, thinking. That was when he saw it, a giant arrow painted in yellow on the ground, pointing at the opposite building where something was hanging near the window, floating around and... why was it looking like a dead body?

 

Mickey ran back downstairs, and up the other building, hating his husband with all his guts when he arrived on the right floor, caughing his lungs. But, thankfully, the dead body wasn't really one, just a stupid dark suit wrapped in plastic, hooked above the window, and on which was stuck a post-it with the mention _'wear me'_. Mickey obeyed, happy it wasn't the middle of winter as he took his clothes off, and put the suit on. He stuffed his clothes in the plastic wrapper and transferred his phone, wallet and keys into his new pants. He searched the pockets of the jacket and found the next clue.

 

_**Candy bars, magazines and security jackets** _

_**I ring the items** _

_**You scare people away** _

_**But we should definitely stop fucking in the freezer** _

 

***

 

The Kash' N Grab looked just as shitty as it used to, and Mickey took the time to look at the familiar exterior, before walking in the crappy little store. A scrawny teenager with darkish skin and black hair sticking up on his head was sitting behind the counter. He didn't seem scared or apprehensive at the sight of Mickey. Of course, the youngest Milkovich son had lost his reputation in this joint, and even if he hadn't had, he didn't really look threatening while all cleaned up and wearing a fucking suit.

 

"You're Linda's kid?" Mickey asked, and the boy nodded, now seeming curious as to how this strange man knew his mother. "I used to work here." Mickey explained, and the kid nodded again – clearly he didn't care.

 

Mickey looked around the store, searching for some clue Ian could have left him here, but he came up empty. Nothing jumped to his eyes, nothing looked out of the ordinary or like something that Ian could have placed there. He thought about going into the freezer, but it would certainly be weird to do that without asking the kid for permission before, so Mickey went back to the counter.

 

“Did a tall redhead came by earlier? Leaving something for me maybe?”

 

The kid's face lightened up and he smiled.

 

“Ian?” he asked, and it was Mickey's turn to nod. “So, you're Mickey?” the boy wondered, still smiling. “My mom talks about you sometimes. I think she liked you.”

 

And Mickey hinted a smile of his own. Good old Linda. Maybe he did like her too.

 

“Ian bought that for you.” the teenager said, taking a plastic bag full of snickers bars from under the counter. “Said something about a sweet tooth.”

 

Mickey laughed and grabbed the bag.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“There's that too.” the boy added and handed Mickey another envelop.

 

_**It all started there** _

_**Pissing on first base** _

_**Celebrating your release of juvie** _

_**Pull-ups and shotgun** _

_**I'm sure I could beat you this time** _

 

***

 

Of course Ian would bring Mickey back to the baseball field. They both loved this placed, even though there was nothing special about it really, just a bunch of memories. Neither of them even played baseball anymore – not that Mickey had ever liked this sport anyway. He walked to the dugout slowly, enjoying the morning sun over the green grass. So fucking cheesy.

 

There was a huge rock at the foot of the bench, and a smaller one on the bench, holding the envelop in place. Mickey seized the clue and read it quickly.

 

_**Will** _ _**you stay married to me?** _

 

_**(Bring your answer home.)** _

 

And that's when Mickey saw the letters painted on the rocks. On the giant, unmovable rock was written 'No' and on the small, pocketable rock was written 'Yes'. Mickey shook his head.

 

_Fucking Gallagher._

 

***

 

Ian had spent the last two weeks planning this anniversary. “A trip down Memory Lane” Mandy had teased him, and yes, that had actually been exactly his intention. He had wanted to bring Mickey back to some of the places that meant something to them, but he had also wanted to make it fun and not too long because he knew Mickey would be in a bad mood if he had to run across town all day long.

 

And now Ian was waiting, sitting at the table in the Milkovich kitchen, the non-alcoholic beers were cold, and the pizza bagels were in the oven, Mickey just needed to get here. It was almost noon, and he shouldn't be too long anymore. Except if he had decided to drag the big 'No' rock all the way home.

 

The door finally opened, and Ian jumped out of his seat.

 

“You're really sappy, you know that Gallagher?” Mickey exclaimed as he entered the house.

 

Ian smiled.

 

“I know. But I'm sure you loved it!”

 

“I would have been perfectly happy spending the day in bed.”

 

“We can do that this afternoon.”

 

Mickey shook his head with a grin, and Ian knew he had succeeded, Mickey had loved his treasure hunt. They looked at each other for a beat, neither of them saying anything, and Ian finally broke.

 

“Did you bring it? Your answer?”

 

“Yeah.” Mickey nodded, his face unreadable. “But it was too big, I couldn't get it through the door.”

 

For a couple of seconds, Ian wasn't sure if Mickey was bluffing or not, but his husband cracked the beginning of a smile, and the redhead released his breath.

 

"You're a fucking asshole."

 

“I'm the asshole? I woke up to an empty bed this morning, I thought you left!”

 

“Why would I leave?”

 

Mickey looked down, staring at his feet.

 

“I don't know.” he mumbled. “You've been married to me for one year now, I thought maybe... you like... changed your mind or something...”

 

Ian slid a finger under his husband's chin and raised his head to force their eyes to meet.

 

“Let's not do that again Mick. For better or for worse remember?”

 

“I'm not even sure the guy at the courthouse said that.” Mickey snorted.

 

“We should do it again.” Ian suddenly suggested. “Like renew our vows.”

 

“We'll do that for the five years mark.” Mickey promised. “When I'll be free of all disease. We'll throw a big party.”

 

***

 

“So, one year down the road.” Mickey's doctor smiled, looking up from his file. “How do you feel Mickey?”

 

“Better than a year ago.” the black-haired man answered.

 

“Well you've been through quite a lot, but I'm happy to say you're in the right tracks. The road might still be long, but I think we can safely say you've seen the worst of it.”

 

Ian smiled and squeezed his husband's hand against his thigh.

 

“Now, Mr Gallagher...”

 

“You can call me Ian.” the redhead said quickly.

 

Mickey raised his eyebrows, and Ian just shrugged.

 

“Alright, Ian.” the doctor continued, grabbing a long rectangular box from his desk. “I guess you already know what this is.”

 

“My last vaccine shot.” Ian smiled brighter.

 

“Exactly.” the doctor nodded. “Once this baby will be in your body, you'll be able to live a slightly easier life. You will still have to be careful, especially during sex, and please don't try to rub open wounds together – you'd be surprised to know how many of my patients tried that – but you'll be fairly safe from the virus.”

 

“So once you'll inject me this last shot, we'll be able to kiss?” Ian asked, a slight tone of excitement in his voice.

 

“Yes.” the doctor nodded. “Well... in twenty-four hours.”

 

Ian and Mickey's faces fell at the same time. Twenty-four hours. They could that. Yeah. Only one more day.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took SO long to write this kiss, I wanted to get it right, and you guys had such high expectations, I hope it won't disappoint. :)
> 
> Also **warning** : Ian talks about blood twice in this chapter, and mentions someone's suicide quite crudely. Oh and Terry is very briefly mentioned, and not even by name, but I rather always warn you when it comes to that man.

 

Ian pushed the front door of the Milkovich house open, wondering when was the last time he had actually spent the night at the Gallagher house. Nowadays he was just coming back from work directly to Mickey's. He dropped his heavy jacket on the back of the couch, and put the paper bag of Chinese food he had just bought on the kitchen table. And suddenly, he felt strong arms wrap around his waist from behind him.

 

“Sharp uniform.” Mickey whispered in his ear.

 

“Oh yeah?” Ian replied, leaning back against his husband. “That get you going?”

 

Mickey moaned lowly and kissed the redhead's neck. Ian sighed, giving into the touch for a second, before he pulled slightly away from Mickey to fish his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and held it high for both men to see the countdown of digital numbers flashing across the screen. Five more minutes. Mickey dropped his hands and took a step away from the redhead.

 

“So why are you still wearing this anyway?” he asked, nodding his head at the EMT uniform, trying to fill the little time they had left to wait with mundane questions. “Don't you usually change at the station?”

 

"It's a long story involving too much blood and piss from strangers, do you really want to know?" Ian answered, making a face that told Mickey that no, indeed, he didn't want to know.

 

"Not really." the black-haired man shook his head.

 

The two men looked at each other in silence, the numbers changing too slowly on Ian's phone.

 

“We don't really have to wait another two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, do we?” Mickey finally sighed. “I mean a couple of minutes won't really change anything, right?”

 

Ian looked back at his phone, then at his husband.

 

“Fuck no.” he breathed, taking a step forward and rushing into Mickey's arms, crashing their lips together.

  


And they kissed, they kissed like they hadn't kissed each other in so long, too long. A warm and amazing kiss that felt so fucking right. Ian’s hand slid against Mickey’s cheek, and Mickey’s hand went to rest lightly on the side of his husband's waist. Ian's lips were hard against Mickey's, and his tongue was quick to dart out and meet the other man's. Mickey closed his eyes as Ian's kiss engulfed him, teasing at his lips with his tongue before his mouth opened wider to taste even more of him. That warmth, the feeling of Ian’s tongue actually moving inside his mouth, kissing him for real, made Mickey's insides turn in the best way possible. Their tongues were seeking out every inch, every taste, of the other. It felt too good to be true. Mickey did his best to pull the redhead even closer to him despite them already being glued to each other. It wasn't enough, it could never be enough. Ian kept his right hand on Mickey’s cheek, maintaining the kiss strong, his other hand curling around the collar of Mickey's shirt, tugging him upwards, before he finally forced himself to break the kiss, their hot and strangled breathing fanning each other’s lips, foreheads still resting against each other’s. They exchanged a few more pecks, and they smiled at the same time.

  


“I’m so fucking in love with you” Ian said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still closed.

  


Mickey grinned wider.

  


“I love you too,” he swallowed, licking his lips.

  


Ian didn't even bother to open his eyes, he was already back on his husband, and they kept making out in the middle of the kitchen in the Milkovich house of horrors.

  


When they finally parted for real, they were both out of breath. But Mickey was fast to smirk again, tugging at Ian's belt, and waving his eyebrows playfully.

  


“Come on tough guy, let's see what you got.”

  


Ian didn't need to be told twice, he joined Mickey in the bedroom in three big steps, just in time to see his husband take off his shirt and pants.

  


“Going commando I see.” the redhead teased.

  


"I got myself all ready for you, waiting for you." Mickey winked, unbuttoning Ian's pants and slipping a hand inside his boxers.

  


"Shit Mick." the redhead breathed heavily.

  


He made a move to take off his shirt, but Mickey stopped him.

  


“Keep the uniform on.”

  


Ian's eyes widened, but he didn't ask any question, nodding eagerly. He still took his belt off and opened his pants a little more, freeing his already hard cock. Mickey reached for the condom and the bottle of lube already waiting for them on the bedside table, and handed them to the redhead before laying on his back on the bed, entirely naked. Ian rolled the condom on and coated his erection with some lube. He climbed on the bed and kneeled between Mickey's legs, leaning over his husband to kiss him some more. Mickey's mouth opened without any hesitation to let Ian's tongue in, but the redhead had already other matters in mind. He pulled away from the kiss quickly, and reached down to grab his penis and direct it inside Mickey in one swift movement. The two men moaned in unison.

  


"You're not even tight." Ian noticed.

  


"Told ya I was ready." Mickey grunted.

  


"You missed me that much?"

  


Mickey averted his eyes from Ian's, and wriggled his ass.

  


“Come on, less talking, more pounding.”

  


Ian smirked, he was starting to know his man too well, and he could recognize without a doubt the moments when Mickey wanted to avoid talking about feelings, so he didn't say anything and started to move. Precise stabs, the way he knew Mickey liked it, hard and slow, in and out, in and out. He pushed harder, going deeper, and he heard Mickey groan loudly. Ian raised his eyes as he felt the other man dig his short nails in the skin of his elbows through the blue fabric, and what he saw was nothing but a vision of glory: Mickey, eyes closed, and pale cheeks blushing from intense pleasure, his back arching from the bed, and his chest raising with delight.

  


“So gorgeous.” Ian breathed, making Mickey open his beautiful blue eyes, and smile at him.

  


Ian leaned above him and kissed his slightly-opened pink lips. The change in position allowed his next thrust to punch right in Mickey's prostate, and the man grunted, gripping Ian's neck to keep him in place, pushing his ass back to meet every single one of his sharp movements, trapping his own hard, leaking dick between their chests.

  


“Wait.” Ian said, reluctantly parting from Mickey. "You can't come on my uniform. It's a bitch to clean."

  


"Fuck that." Mickey replied, trying with his body to bring them back into the action. "I'll wash it."

  


Ian thought about it for only half a second before he started moving again, thrusting harder and faster inside Mickey, bringing them both over the edge. He reached between them to grip Mickey's dick and stroke it. Mickey wrapped his hand around Ian's to accompany the movement.

  


“Fuck, babe.” Ian sighed, feeling his stomach tightened.

  


“Don't... fuck... don't fucking call me that.” Mickey groaned, sounding anything but threatening.

  


Ian smiled and pumped a couple of more times. He dropped his head against Mickey's shoulder and kissed the skin there.

  


“Okay babe.” he whispered into his ear, and he felt Mickey's ass clench around his dick, and the warm liquid of Mickey's orgasm fill his hand.

  


It was enough for Ian to let go and joined his husband in bliss. He came into the condom, and pumped a few more times inside Mickey, riding his own orgasm, before collapsing onto the other man. They both took a moment to find their breathing back, not moving from their position for some time, before Ian kissed Mickey's cheek and rolled out of him, lying on the bed, and getting rid of the condom.

  


“I didn't come because of that.” Mickey's voice broke the silence.

  


“Because of what?”

  


“Cause you called me _babe_.”

  


“I never said that.” Ian smirked.

  


He stood up from the bed and took his dirty shirt off, throwing it at his husband.

  


“You wash it, remember?”

  


“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey sighed, sitting up. “I'm tired of using condoms.” he added, looking down at the shirt. “I miss feeling you inside me.”

  


“Yeah, well that won't change anytime soon.” Ian answered, taking the rest of his clothes off. “Buuut... we could use a turkey baster, you know, I could fill it and –”

  


“Don't finish that sentence please.” Mickey begged, making a face.

  


“Hey, you're the one who started it.” Ian smiled. “I was just being practical.”

  


“You know that's not what I meant, right?” the black-haired man asked back, rolling his eyes. “Although a turkey baster...”

  


“Forget it!” Ian shouted as he headed toward the bathroom. “Too small, you wouldn't feel it!”

  


“You're real cocky, huh?” Mickey smirked as he trailed behind his husband.

  


“Always.” the redhead winked, climbing into the tub and turning the water on.

  


Mickey joined him under the shower spray, and they took a short shower together, trying not to start round two right away, as Ian reminded Mickey they still had Chinese food waiting for them in the kitchen.

  


“Where the fuck is my towel?” the redhead exclaimed as he opened the shower curtain and only spotted Mickey's towel curled up in a corner of the bathroom.

  


“Don't know.” the black-haired man shrugged. “Maybe Iggy took it again. He was here this morning. You know where the clean ones are anyway.”

  


“Yeah, but still.” Ian shook his head in exasperation and exited in the hallway butt-naked and dripping water to grab a new towel from the rack also filled with a bunch of other crap.

  


“You know,” Mickey started, sounding hesitant. “You're always here, you have almost all your stuff here, you're basically living here already, so... I mean... Do you wanna, maybe... make it official?”

  


Ian stilled and looked back at his husband.

  


“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

  


Mickey blushed and dropped his eyes to the ground.

  


“I guess...”

  


Ian opened his mouth, and closed it, before opening it once again.

  


“Um... No?”

  


Mickey looked back up faster than lightning.

  


“Oh, okay.” he almost yelled. “So we're married and you're always crashing here, but, _somehow_ , you don't want to live with me?!”

  


“I do, I do want to live with you!” Ian tried to fix, desperate not to break his husband's heart. “I want to live with you Mick, but I don't want to move in here. I hate this house. I'm tired of living in your father's shadow, afraid every second of every single day that he might suddenly walk in that door. And I'm tired of living in cohabitation with your siblings that come and go as they wish and use all our stuff without asking, leaving them the-fuck-knows-where. I want to live with you and only you.”

  


“Oh.” Mickey simply said, releasing a breath. “So do you want us to look for another place?”

  


“Actually.” the redhead smiled, taking a step toward his husband. “You kinda beat me to it, I was going to tell you tonight, and ask _you_ to move in with _me_ , but I already found a place.”

  


“You did?”

  


“Yeah. It's a two-bedroom apartment, not too far from the Loop, but not completely outside of Southside either, just in a slightly better neighborhood. And it would be above our price range, but the last tenant killed himself in the living-room, so the owner had some trouble renting the place, and he agreed to lower the rent if I agreed to clean the blood and brain matter from the wall, and pay for the new wallpaper myself. We can sign the lease on Friday if we want it.”

  


***

  


“So you're really moving out?” Debbie asked, her face sad and on the verge of tears.

  


“I haven't really been living in the house for a while now Debs.” Ian answered, bringing his little sister closer in a one-arm hug. “And it's not like I'm the first one to move out, even you moved out for a while last year.”

  


“I know.” Debbie nodded. “But it never lasted. All the times Fiona moved in with boyfriends or husbands, she always came back. Lip didn't stay long in college, and even then he came back almost every week. The longest Carl's been gone was when he was in juvie. You left for the army and you came back, and then you lived with Mickey, but you came back, and you lived with Caleb, but you came back. And I never moved out for too long either. Hell, we even lost the house twice and got it back, and even Frank can't stay away for more than a few months at a time. But this time... I don't know, it feels... definitive.”

  


“I really hope it is.” Ian couldn't help but smile.

  


“I really hope it is too, but I'm going to miss you.” the teenage girl admitted, holding her brother tighter. “The first Gallagher to finally, _permanently_ , leave the nest. It's a big step.”

  


Ian's heart tightened at the idea. Yes, it was a big step, but he had never felt more secure or happy about any other decision in his entire life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the end guys. Only one more chapter to go. I'm sad...


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up pissed at myself this morning for not posting this update sooner. But after a month working on it, I'm still not completely satisfied, although I don't know if any ending to this story would be satisfying...
> 
> Also, I want to thank [Ellie](http://3lliephant.tumblr.com/) for proofreading this chapter when I was at my laziest point, and for telling me it was good even when I didn't believe it.

 

The door opened directly into a large main room. The open kitchen was on the left, next to a small balcony, and three doors led to the two bedrooms and the bathroom. The apartment wasn't big, so the visit was short. The floorboard was old and creaky, and the wallpaper in the living room had more flowers on it than a field of tulips.

 

“No wonder the guy killed himself...” Mickey muttered under his breath as soon as they stepped inside the apartment.

 

“Mick!” Ian whispered with frowned eyebrows, nudging him in the ribs.

 

Mickey raised his hands in some sort of apology, and Ian rolled his eyes. The wallpaper would disappear soon enough anyway. The landlord showed them the first bedroom. There were sliding doors in the wall, hiding a large closet space, and a full window with a nice view of the neighborhood.

 

“The other room is smaller.” the landlord told them. “So I guess you guys will have to decide who gets it, and maybe you can split the rent accordingly, or something like that.”

 

“Oh.” Ian looked at his husband who shared the same surprised expression.

 

He hesitated for a second. Their landlord was sixty, if not even seventy years old, and looked like an old conservative uncle who threw the word 'fag' around at least ten times a day.

 

“The other bedroom is for our son...” the redhead tried slowly. “We... We're married.”

 

The landlord stared at them for a too long minute, his eyes traveling from one man to the other. Ian was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for the man to refuse them the apartment.

 

“You guys are lucky.” the landlord finally blurted out. “You had to have a wife in my time. Don't get me wrong, I love Darla, but if I could've married Rick...”

 

“Rick?” Mickey asked with a little smirk.

 

“Old army buddy...”

 

“This one was in the army.” Mickey added, pointing at Ian.

 

The face of their landlord lit up.

 

“I was discharged.” the redhead added before the man could ask any more question.

 

The landlord nodded, apparently sensing that this was all the information he would get on the subject.

 

“I have papers for you to sign.” he informed them. “Let me go get them.”

 

The old man walked away, shaking his head, and talking to himself.

 

“Lucky, lucky, lucky...”

 

Mickey turned to his husband with a smile.

 

“Maybe if you had mention liking dicks and enrolling in the army a little sooner, you could have negotiated a cheaper rent without having to scarp brain matter off the wall...”

 

“Shut up.” Ian smiled back, grabbing Mickey by the hips and bringing their bodies closer. “How do you like the place anyway?”

 

“It's shitty.” Mickey nodded, looking around one more time. “But it's way better than my house.”

 

_***_

 

“Are you circumcised?” was the first thing Carl asked Mickey when he walked through the door of the Milkovich house.

 

He was followed closely by Debbie, with Frannie in her arms, Liam, Lip, Kev, V, Svetlana, and a sheepish-looking Fiona. Mickey ignored the rest of the crowd to focus his attention on Carl and his weird questions.

 

“What?”

 

“Did Ian ever refuse to go down on you?” Carl insisted.

 

“Is he for real?” Mickey asked his husband, and Ian just shrugged with an amused smile on his face.

 

“It's just that Dom didn't want to give me a BJ because I wasn't circumcised.” Carl explained. “And Ian said not all dicks he's seen were cut, so I was wondering...”

 

“You have nothing better to do than think about your brother's husband's dick?” Lip slapped him gently behind the head.

 

“What did you do about this girl?” Mickey inquired.

 

“I got circumcised.”

 

“At sixteen? Shit, must have hurt like a bitch.”

 

“Kinda.” Carl shrugged. “Couldn't get an erection for four days. But then Dom went down on me, and it was all worth it...”

 

“Did she dump you like a week after that?” Debbie chipped in, ignoring the middle finger her brother was waving in her direction.

 

“If you think a sixteen-year-old BJ is worth getting your dick cut, wait until she grow up and learn some new skills.” Mickey stated. “Then you'll see what it's all about.”

 

He turned to his husband with a wink, and Ian blew him a kiss before he followed Fiona into the kitchen.

 

…

 

Fiona emptied the cabinets one by one, wrapping the shitty plates delicately before putting them in boxes. Ian settled next to her, doing the same action with the mugs and glasses. They worked side by side in silence for a few minutes, establishing a steady rhythm.

 

“Thanks for coming.” Ian finally said after a while.

 

Fiona nodded silently. She wrapped another plate, put it gently in the box on top of the others and turned fully to her brother.

 

“I'm sorry.” she apologized weakly. “I'm an asshole. I shouldn't give you advice on relationships when mine are so shitty.”

 

“That's okay.” Ian smiled. “I'm glad you're here.”

 

…

 

“Do you take the TV?” Kev asked, pointing at the black screen.

 

“Fuck yeah.” Mickey answered. “I don't think Mandy wants it, and it's not like any of my shithead brothers are around to claim it.”

 

Kev nodded, getting Carl's help to move the television to his truck. Mickey took care of the DVD player and the different game stations, putting them in boxes. V and Svet had gone to help Fiona in the kitchen, Debbie and Liam were in the bathroom, and Lip and Ian were debating on whether or not they could move the dresser from the bedroom on their own.

 

“So, where are the kids?” Mickey wondered when Kev came back in the house.

 

“They're at home with Yvon.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Yvon. Lana's father.”

 

Mickey closed the box he was working on with tape, and scribbled quickly on it to make sure they knew what was in it.

 

“Her father's name's not Yvon.” he replied, not looking up from his task. “It's Yevgeny.”

 

“What?” Kev exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

 

“Well yeah, it better be, it's the only reason our kid has a weird-ass name.”

 

Mickey looked up to see Kev in full panic mode, his brain working a hundred miles a minute.

 

“So, who's Yvon then?”

 

“The fuck should I know man?” Mickey shrugged. “She's your wife now, your problem.”

 

...

 

Ian was absentmindedly folding some clothes on the bed when Lip's voice interrupted his random train of thoughts.

 

“What's this?”

 

The older Gallagher brother had opened one of the dresser's drawer and was holding Mickey's ben wa beads with the tip of his fingers, keeping them away from him. Mickey climbed down the chair he had been standing on to take down his old posters from the wall and snatched the object from Lip's hands.

 

“Don't touch this.”

 

The black-haired man threw the beads in the box Lip had already started to fill with all the crap he could find in the drawer.

 

“Handcuffs?” Lip continued, holding the new object and waving his eyebrows at his brother.

 

Ian shook his head with a small smile.

 

“Come on, Lip.”

 

“And you have five different types of dildos.” Lip noted. “And this.”

 

He raised his hand from the drawer to show the giant sex toy Ian had found in a suitcase a while ago.

 

“That, you can throw away.” Mickey said with a disgusted face.

 

“What's wrong Milkovich, you can't take it that big?”

 

“Oh, I can take a lot.” Mickey smirked, making Lip shiver. “But when it comes to these kinds of toys, I don't do hand-me-downs already used by some stranger.”

 

Lip shot the object a disgusted look and let it fall in the open trash bag at his feet, causing both his brother and brother-in-law to laugh.

 

“Since when do you let Lip go through your personal stuff?” Mandy's voice suddenly asked.

 

She was standing in the door frame with a cocky smile on her lips. Ian abandoned his folding to go greet her with a short hug.

 

“We don't let him do anything.” Mickey grunted, accepting his sister's hug reluctantly. “He does it all on his own.”

…

 

“Alright.” Fiona clapped her hands together as they were all standing in the almost empty Milkovich house. “We just need to move the couch and we're done.”

 

“Oh no.” Ian shook his head. “We don't take the couch.”

 

“Why not?” Fiona insisted. “It's still in good shape. And I'm sure we can fit it in Kev's truck after taking all the boxes out.”

 

“We don't take the couch.” Mickey repeated. “This fucking couch is staying here, in this fucking house where it belongs. We'll buy a new one. Or a new used one, or whatever.”

 

Ian saw his family exchange surprised looks at Mickey's sudden burst of anger toward this piece of furniture, and his eyes traveled to Svetlana, who just raised her shoulders vaguely, like she couldn't care less if Mickey wanted to keep the couch or not, even though he knew she understood.

 

“Okay.” Ian cut the tension. “We still have to move the bed though.”

 

“Oh no you don't.” Debbie replied quickly with a wink.

 

“We need a bed, Debs.”

 

“Yes, you do.” she stated, her mischievous smile growing even bigger. “But we thought you might enjoy a new bed.”

 

“What?”

 

“We never got you a wedding gift.” Mandy explained.

 

“You bought us a bed?” Mickey exclaimed with his very distinct raise of eyebrows.

 

“Yep. We all chipped in to get you the gift you might enjoy the most.”

 

“If that's a reference to our sex life Mandy I swear...”

 

“Oh, it totally is.”

 

***

 

“Fuck!” Mickey swore, throwing a piece of wood across the room. “I hate our fucking family! _Oh we're so generous, we got you a bed._ Fucking Ikea bed we have to build ourselves! They're just a bunch of undeserving assholes!”

 

Ian and Mickey had been sitting on the floor of the bedroom in their new apartment for the past hour, trying to figure out how to assemble their “gift” after their family had deserted them, and, clearly, Mickey was getting a little tired of it.

 

“You're starting to sound like Frank.” Ian pointed out, stretching his neck, and leaning his head against the wall.

 

“Yeah, well maybe he has a point.”

 

Mickey looked down at the screw he was holding in one hand and the weird piece of iron he was holding in the other and that apparently weren't going together.

 

“I don't even...” he started, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head, before letting go of both objects, dropping them on the floor loudly.

 

“Don't loose any pieces.” Ian warned, eyes closed, almost falling asleep in his corner.

 

Mickey sighed loudly and stood up.

 

“Okay, that's it.” he declared. “Tonight we're sleeping on the mattress on the floor. And tomorrow, Mandy, Debbie, and the rest of these shitheads will come and build this fucking bed.”

 

Ian opened one eye and smiled.

 

“Lip's gonna give you shit for not being able to put an Ikea bed together.”

 

“Yeah, well I'd like to see him try.”

 

Ian smiled wider and opened his other eye.

 

“Come on Gallagher.” Mickey held a hand toward his husband. “I got something for you.”

 

“Really?” Ian smirked, taking the offered hand and standing up, waving his eyebrows playfully.

 

“It's not...” Mickey rolled his eyes. “It's not what you think.”

 

The black-haired man walked to one of the smallest boxes near the door and opened the one on top, barely searching through it before extracting a little velvet bag out of it. He looked at it for a second, a smile forming on his lips, before turning to his husband.

 

“I know you had yours altered a while ago – even though you didn't wear it – but I only had mine fixed last week.”

 

Ian was watching Mickey talked without really understanding what was going on. He had absolutely no idea what his husband was on about. And then Mickey opened the bag to get two dark gray bands out of it.

 

“Our wedding rings...” the redhead muttered, understanding finally drawing on his face.

 

“Yeah.” Mickey smiled sheepishly. “And mine finally fits.”

 

“You...” Ian started. “You want us to wear them?”

 

“Only if you want.” Mickey shrugged.

 

“Of course I do.” Ian smiled brighter, taking a step forward and extending his hand for Mickey to put the ring on it.

 

The black-haired man rolled his eyes again, but did it anyway, and before he could put his own ring on, Ian had grabbed his hand and done it for him.

 

“We make one hell of a team.” Mickey muttered. “Bipolar and hepatitis. Mental and physical. Genetics and viral. Regular medication for god knows how long, and we're not even medically compatible.”

 

“What?”

 

“You don't remember? That's what you said to me after my first doctor appointment, just before we got married.”

 

“Oh yeah, and then you yelled at me that we weren't a team, and that you were alone in this. You wanted me to stop pretending we were a couple.”

 

“I did...”

 

“Well I'm not pretending anymore.”

 

Mickey finally smiled, joining Ian in his happiness. The redhead leaned in and kissed his husband tenderly.

 

“What's the saying?” Ian whispered. “This is the beginning of the rest of our lives?”

 

“So fucking gay, Gallagher.” Mickey shook his head.

 

“We really are _'so fucking gay'_ , aren't we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or comments. And you can also come talk and share with me on my [tumblr](http://ilostmylifeonline.tumblr.com/), it's always appreciated. :)


End file.
